The room seemed far too quite after Percy left, a stillness that hung like radiation in the air until everything seemed ready to explode for sudden necessity. How good would that be, the perfect expression of Ron's nerves. He'd explode, if nothing else would. It would beat what he did now, circling the room again and again, striking at everything he came across, not even caring that they weren't affected save for a subconscious hope that on some level they were. Perhaps it was best they weren't touched, even-destroying things didn't necessarily quell anger.
But he could touch Percy. The thought held such comfort. Percy was the only thing he wanted to hit anyway.
He still couldn't comprehend the insanity of the visit. What had been the point? So Percy had shown up like the git he was to mock Ron? After two years. . . they had never been particularly close as it was, and those two years hadn't helped in that area. And in all honesty, Ron hadn't cared. It wasn't his fault-it was entirely Percy's. So what was the purpose of Percy showing up when he was the last person Ron needed?
On some small level, Ron knew he should be swallowing back that issue, at least pretending to feel some semblance of pity. Percy had died, and Ron hadn't known. The situation held a genuine sadness of what should be felt by default. But Ron didn't feel anything but rage. Amazing how the state of the deceased could change things.
He threw another punch through his window into the rain and pulled his fist back, cursing. His voice did little to ebb the painful silence-it only made it worse in its harsh contrast. He kicked finally into the floor. It took a lot out of him, surprisingly enough. He had probably been fatigued for a long time and just hadn't noticed till then. Stupid Percy, ruining everything. Hopefully he had left the house.
Ron gazed at the door, wondering if Percy really was gone and if their parents had returned from Hogwarts. Despite everything, he wanted to see them; they'd be infinitely better than Percy no matter how sad they were. Beyond the silence of the room was noise-the din of the ghoul in the attic, creaking pipes, a mouse scuttling through the walls. The normal sounds of an empty house. Or a house haunted by a single ghost. But he couldn't be sure. After all, he had just died. Perhaps his parents were just quietly grieving in their room or something.
Without thinking, he headed toward the door and experienced momentary mild surprise as his hand passed shadow-like through the brass doorknob. He blinked. "Ron," he muttered to himself. "Bloody good luck in getting that open." He stared at the door for a long time before inspiration hit him with what seemed to be the most original idea in the world. At least at that time.
"I can walk through walls!" he exclaimed to no one.
He stepped back, stared again at the door, then ran at it as hard as he could.
It was like running into a wall that threatened to throw him back only it didn't as he passed through splinters of wood he could almost feel. He was flung out on the other side, feeling more exhausted than before. He forced his eyes open and looked behind him at the ever-familiar door that was still closed.
"I just ran through a door," he whispered in awe.
And he had been closing his eyes. Of all the stupid things. What he might have seen. . . Well, there was only one solution for that. He ran back through.
The wood of the door... it really wasn't that interesting. Just.... wood. But he had run through the wall again.
"This is so bloody wicked!" he said in amazement. If only he didn't feel so weak...
He'd have to run through the wall again, a third time if he wanted to actually leave his bedroom. Was it still his? Would anyone ever enter it again?
His parents. He had to see if they were there. He passed through the door a third time.
Amazing the fun he was having with that.
The hall was no nosier than his room. No tell-tale creaking of anyone on the staircase. He didn't bother trying to walk down them; he just unsteadily floated down.
The house was empty. The hearth was black, no candles were lit, and the chairs were neatly tucked under the kitchen table he would never again sit at. He gazed sadly at it, thinking of all the meals and arguments he had experienced around it. His family was prone to that. A window hung slightly open, enough to excuse the puddle of water that was forming on the floor beneath the ledge. His mother wouldn't be happy. Someone should close the window.
This is silly, he thought suddenly. What was he doing, worrying about the water and hanging around for someone to close the stupid window? Of all things, he was haunting his own house. His parents would still be crying when they returned home. His earlier desire disappeared; he didn't want to be there.
"Somewhere else," he muttered. "The Gryffindor common room."
He had to repeat it several times. It was good no one could hear or see him, standing like an idiot in his kitchen talking to himself. But it worked eventually, and he found himself in the familiar darkened common room.
He had been in the common room late at night before. It had always been the basic meeting spot for midnight excursions. But then he had always been in the company of Harry or Hermione or Neville or someone-never had he been alone. It was unsettling how large and dark the cozy room could be, the fire reduced to a few glowing embers(A/N: Written In Stars, that's for you!) struggling against the shadows like fireflies. It was almost worse than the Burrow. The faint light wasn't all that necessary, he realized, as objects quickly outlined themselves before him; his night vision had certainly improved.
A rustle of cloth drew his attention to one of the overstuffed armchairs before the hearth. Harry had fallen asleep there, still dressed in his day clothes. Still in the same clothes he had battled Voldemort in, burnt, torn, and filthy. He probably hadn't even showered.
Ron stared at his friend for a long time. Was this it? All the fun they had ever had together was gone. They hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to one another. At least that much could have been granted. "Harry," he said aloud.
No reaction, as before.
He sighed. Would he ever be able to appear to Harry? Or was Percy right, and appearing to people he knew and cared about was just stupid? Well, what did Percy know? It wasn't like he had any friends. Friends that would have slept out in the common room with the house elves coming in and out for him.
Heremione. What about her? She had obviously made it up to her own bed. How was she doing? She did miss him, didn't she? His mind raced with sudden fear. Their last time together-last fight together-had been so pointless. But what did he expect? The silly little crush he had harbored for so long-no, it wasn't silly! Hermione was so... he didn't know how to describe it. But he had no idea if she returned it. Did he really expect her to be in her dorm rom crying over him as if he were more than a friend?
He looked up the staircase to the girls' dormitories. Boys weren't allowed to go up. They couldn't go up. At least, living boys couldn't go up.... How would whatever enchantment that protected the girls notice a ghost passing over? He laughed. How convenient. He rose a foot into the air and drifted up the steps, all the while watching them for the moment they would fuse together into a slide. They didn't.
He laughed again. Wait until Harry heard about this. . . he felt a twinge of pain. Harry wouldn't heard about this.
Ron was almost to the top of the stairs. And then something exploded from the wall, wailing. A girl.
Ron leaped back with a shout of his own, and tumbled backwards through the wall.
"Get out of there!" the girl yelled. With surprising strength, she grabbed his wrist and dragged him out, flailing, into the stair corridor. "What do you think you're doing?"
The girl was a ghost.
"I. . . " Ron stammered. His mind was a whirl. What did he think he was doing? Somehow saying he was trying to see Hermione wasn't enough.
"You pervert!" the girl snarled. "You were attempting to sneak into a girls' room!"
Sneak? That did make it sound questionable. "I didn't mean-"
The girl rolled her eyes, and for the first time Ron wondered why she had so frightened him. She was quite young-or at least had been so upon her death-about twelve or thirteen, maybe younger. Ron had never been a good judge of age. Long, wavy hair hung past her round face, which currently bore an irritated frown. The robe she wore was slightly too big for her, completing the appearance of an undersized wraith. "Sure, you didn't mean anything. They never do. Good thing you couldn't get in anyway."
"Couldn't get in?" Ron echoed. "The stairs didn't turn into a slide. That's what keeps the. . . living out." It was a hard word to actually say.
"That's what they all think. Ghosts boys. Do you think that with all the spectral energy around this place the Founders would have put defenses up only against the living?"
"I never thought of it that way."
"Of course you haven't." She gestured up the stairs that still led up to the landing before the seven doors. "Go ahead. Try it."
He hesitated. The smile on the girl's face was so. .. knowing. Something horrible would happen if he went up there, he was sure of it. Of course, she could just be playing with his mind. "If I can't go up there, why did you stop me?"
She shrugged. "I felt like it."
Sensible enough answer. He looked to the top of the stairs. Hermione. He made his way up.
Barely was he at the top step than he struck something. Something sticky. "Bleh." He pulled away, feeling the distinctive impression of glue being pulled from his skin. He squinted at the air before him, unable to see anything.
"Ectoplasm," the girl announced.
Ron turned to stare at her. "Ecto what?"
"Ectoplasm,. A very refined, magical variety of it, anyway. The Founders made contact with wizard ghosts and asked them to enchant barriers to keep any mischievous male ghosts out of where they should not be. This is part of it."
"Part of it?" Ron stared at the seemingly empty air in front of him. Unfair he couldn't see it. "Well, the slide thing is more interesting."
"I wouldn't say that," she said with a tiny laugh. She floated up the stairs, past Ron, and through one of the doors, disappearing momentarily. Then she popped back into a view, smiling and waving. "Come over here. I dare you."
"I'd rather not."
"No. Try it. I want you to experience just how fun the barrier is."
Well. . he did have to see the worst of it, he supposed. With a shrug, he came forward.
Instantly the entire hall lit up as a thousand lightning bolts ripped into him, igniting what felt like every cell in his body.
After a few foolish attempts, he managed to pull himself away, feeling like one big mass of static energy. His hair-he felt for it. Yes, it was standing on end. Angrily he pushed it down and glared at the girl. "That wasn't funny!"
She was rolling through the air, laughing hysterically. She whipped over him, grazing his cheek with the hem of her robe. "Yes, it was. So much better than watching boys fall down the stairs. Hilarious."
"Hmph." He still felt tingly all over. "It wasn't funny at all. I've had a rotten day. I died and my stupid brother showed up and I'm miserable and the last thing I need is to be struck by lightning. .. "
"You just died today?" A look of pity overcame her face, and she descended to his eye level. "I'm sorry. Deaths are always hard. How did you go? Fall down the stairs?" A smirk escaped her. "I'm sorry. It really isn't funny."
"I was murdered," he replied tersely.
"Murdered!" Her dark eyes widened. "Oh! You're that one guy!"
Great. Now he was the one guy.
She nibbled at her nails, thinking. "I'm sorry, but when you're dead you don't pay all that much attention to the living. But we did hear about Voldemort and Harry Potter-he's so brave. You're that Weasel boy whom he killed."
"Ron Weasley," he corrected.
"Ron Weasley," she repeated, holding out her hand. "I'm most pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley. I am Jillie Morgan."
Ron stared at her hand, then awkwardly shook it.
Jillie frowned. "You're supposed to kiss it. Later-century boys have no manners."
Ron's mum had forced upon all her sons the corrects ways to treat girls, but kissing hands had never been part of any propriety lesson.
"No matter," Jillie continued. "I really am sorry about the barrier. I wouldn't have done it if I had known you had just died." She broke into a grin. "But it's really quite spectacular. It's only ghost lightning, of course, and the living can't sense it. But it's still amazing what it does."
"Yeah, I can still feel it."
"That's normal. Well, you really shouldn't be staying up here." She grabbed his hand before Ron knew it, she had dragged him all the way back down to the common room, where Harry still slept. Instantly she let out a shriek! "Cornelia! What are you doing here?"
Oh, no, Ron thought. Another ghost.
"I came to talk to you," said Cornelia from her perch above an armchair. She was older than Jillie, about Ron's own age, with pale, shoulder-length hair that seemed--Ron coudln't be sure--rather singed at the ends. All of her clothes, from her pants and shirt to her hooded robe to even the satchel she carried around her shoulder, were lightly dusted in what looked suspiciously like ash. "Rebeccah had a meeting with the Bloody Baron, so she shoved me out of Ravenclaw."
"The Bloody Baron," Jillie sighed. "Ugh, I can't stand him."
An involuntary shiver ran down Ron's spine. The Bloody Baron was the ghost of Slytherin house, a gaunt and ragged man covered with bloodstains. Ron had seen little of him, but he seemed to represent everything that was so wrong with the Slytherins.
"But I'm being rude. Cornelia, meet Ron Weasel-I mean Weasley. Ron, meet Cornelia Constellation." Jillie snickered. "He wanted to go up to the Gryffindor girls' dormitories."
"Ooh!" Cornelia's silvery eyes lit up. "Did you let him go up?"
"Yes, it was a shocking experience," Ron muttered.
"Sorry I missed it. Most ghost boys don't try it so-"
Ron screamed as Cornelia suddenly erupted into ghostly blue flames.
"-it's kind of fun to watch those that don't know about the barriers. It wouldn't do at all for living girls having to worry about-" Cornelia plowed on through her speech as though nothing had happened. "Oh! I'm sorry!" The flames faded away, revealing Cornelia with a small smile.
Ron stared at her. "You were just on fire."
Jillie giggled.
"On fire," Cornelia said, nodding. "I rarely notice. I died of spontaneous combustion. During World War II. My family is Muggle, and I happened to be with them at the time in London. We thought we were safe in that cellar." She sighed. "Well, we were safe from the bombs. It really was completely spontaneous. So that's me. How did you die?"
"You-Know-Who," he replied. It suddenly seemed like an event that had happened years ago, or a dream. "Lord. . . Voldemort murdered me."
"Oh. . . that's terrible," she replied, a genuine sympathy on her face. "Rebeccah mentioned it. We actually had a celebration about it in the Ravenclaw Tower. About the Dark Lord's defeat, I mean. Not your death. Murder." She shook her head. "What an awful way to go."
"I was trampled by sheep," Jillie volunteered.
Ron couldn't help but laugh. "You were trampled by sheep?"
"Internal bleeding," she said defensively.
"Very painful," Cornelia agreed. "But, oh Ron! I wish I could have seen you at the barrier! But. . . but you just died tonight. Why sneak in there?
Ron gazed longingly at the stairs. "I have a friend. .. I had to check on her."
"Check on who?" asked a familiar voice.
"Percy," Jillie said icily. "Nice to see you again."
Percy appeared in the corner of the common room, where he glared at Ron. "I really don't care for haunting the school all that often, Miss Morgan. Looks like you wouldn't stay in the house, either, Ron."
"I thought I told you I didn't want you around," Ron spat. Was Percy everywhere? "Did you come to yell at me about sneaking into the girls' dormitories?"
"You were trying to do what?" Percy's face twisted into the familiar prefect rage. "You don't ever change, do you?"
"Neither do you."
"You two know each other?" Cornelia asked. "Oh, dear."
Ron barely heard her question. "Why are you following me?"
Percy sniffed and drifted out from the shadows, the faint light playing off his ghostly face. "Perhaps I should ask you why you feel the need to claim ownership of every place I happen to be in. I'm hardly following you. Perhaps I'm here to check up on someone else." He nodded at the chair where Harry still slept, oblivious to the chaotic chatter around him. "Oh, don't worry. He can't hear us. We're all presently 'invisible ghosts', as you call them."
"Percy, why are you always so awful?" Jillie asked.
Percy ignored her. "Perhaps I came to congratulate your Dark Lord-defeating best friend who couldn't even save your life-"
It wasn't Harry's fault Ron had died. Ron hadn't even considered the possibility, had never even feared the thought entering his mind. But the suggestion of it. . . Harry had been a hero that night, despite the disaster. . . To say Harry was anything less. . . All thoughts fled from Ron's mind as he rushed at Percy, not caring what damage he couldn't do to his brother. . .
"Ron!" Percy jerked back as Ron struck him in the chest, then pushed him back with sudden force. Percy had never been all that physically powerful, but Ron was surprised as he fell back, face throbbing.
"You lied," he said. "You said it didn't hurt."
"It's the memory of pain. It won't kill you." Percy took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Ron, if you touch me again. . ."
"Shut up!" Ron leapt at Percy, knocking him into the ground and through it. They fell through the floor, feeling the splintery aura of the wood rush past them...
"Ron, get off!" Percy shouted, trying to release himself. "I thought we had settled this. . ."
"There's too much to settle," Ron hissed. He hit Percy again, wishing he could somehow draw comforting blood, assurance he was doing damage. "I don't care if I can't hurt you, I don't care!"
They hovered in the air above an empty classroom, desks neatly waiting below as the only audience to the fight.
"You're being stupid," Percy replied, twisting Ron's wrist as he pushed him away. "I don't have time for this, I don't care-"
"You don't care about anything!"
With a cry, Percy sent Ron spinning into the desks, then took the opportunity to shoot back up into the ceiling to the Gryffindor common room.
"I hate you!" Ron screamed, following Percy.
Jillie and Cornelia were still in the common room, watching with some fearful amusement. Ron took them as witnesses that he had done something.
"I don't want to do this," Percy said softly.
"I want to." Ron prepared for another strike.
"Stop!"
Ron's fist dropped to his side.
"No more of this!" the voice continued, a horrible, icy sound that seemed to shake the room.
Cornelia gave a small cry.
"The Bloody Baron," Percy murmured.
The Slytherin ghost stood in the last place any Slytherin should be-the Gryffindor common room, blank eyes staring at Ron and Percy. He had spoken. Ron realized that he had never before heard the Baron speak. Next to him stood another ghost, the Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw. She made a small curtsey, but her gaze was no less harsh than that of the Bloody Baron.
"You can't be in here," Percy said.
"Just because such excursions are rare doesn't mean we can't enter other houses," the Baron said.
"The House ghosts have obligations," the Grey Lady explained. "And one of those is to keep peace among the ghosts."
"A peace you two have not been keeping," the Baron said. He seemed to have no lips, only a gape in his face with teeth. The silvery blood was so... everywhere.
"We didn't mean-" Percy began.
"You're not even our house ghost!" Ron exclaimed. "Nearly-Headless Nick is for Gryiffindor, and he-"
"-is not around," the Baron interrupted. "Which means others can act in his place."
"You can't judge us!"
"I can," he said with a sneer. "I can do many things." He stepped forward, sending a cold vibration through the room. In his chair, Harry shivered in his sleep. "I've heard of your situation, and I must say I do not approve of it."
Ron was being judged by a Slytherin ghost. What else could go wrong? "You could hardly know our situation."
"But I do know of it!" The Baron and the Grey Lady exchanged smiles. "And I regret to say it will not fit in with the order that must be kept in this school. It's a place of the study of magical knowledge, not a war field."
Evidently the Bloody Baron had seen little of the students' going ons.
"As you may know, there are different levels of ghosts in this world. I happen to hold a respectable position."
The Grey Lady laughs. "Which means. . ."
"Which means I have power over many of the ghosts that haunt this school."
"What?" Percy exclaimed. "I don't haunt this school!"
"Neither do I!" Ron put in.
"It doesn't matter," the Baron said with a dark laugh. "You're in this school right now, and you'd be amazed to what geographical extensions that goes. You two have already given an example of what I and the rest of the House ghosts-including your precious Sir Nicholas-refuse to put up with. And, as punishment-" He waved his hand, and the spectral version of a wand appeared, long, slender, and wispy with smoke. "I bind you two together for the next hundred years."