Sorry for the delay! University is evil. Grr. They make me work. On the bright side, my childrens' lit professor spent twenty minutes today going over J. K. Rowling's website. (www.jkrowling.com)
One day. Twenty-four incredible hours, what promised to be the most enjoyable ones since Ron had died. Perhaps something of heaven, at least a break from hell, had been granted to him. If only here weren't so tired. Well, despite that, he was prepared to have the best day he could possible have without a body.
There was only one problem: Neither he nor Percy had any idea how to undo the binding.
"This is supposed to be your area of expertise!" Ron grumbled as he tore at the stiff rope which lit itself mockingly with the faint light of the midnight common room. The rope refused to budge from its magical knot no matter what he did. Any other rope would slide effortlessly through him, but the stupid spectral thing simply clung on as if it were a part of him. Which, when he paused to consider the idea, it was.
"And you have no area of expertise," Percy replied, making no effort to hide the mimic.
Ron sniffed. What was that supposed to mean? Just because he hadn't read every moronic rule book every written.... "You're the one who wants to go to my funeral so badly, so you had better figure it out."
"And you're the one that wants to get rid of me. Why don't you–" He uttered a few choice swear words as the knot he had been so deftly picking at snapped snake-like back at him.
Ron blinked. He had never heard Percy swear before. "I thought you couldn't feel pain." It was so satisfying to witness any sign of weakness.
Percy glared at him, but the injured hand dropped to his side. "Why don't you go bother the Bloody Baron or something, get him to help us?"
"I thought it was your job to kiss up authority." Ron gazed up the stairs to the boys' dormitories, half-expecting, half-wanting footsteps to soon echo with an approaching spy. The common room was far too uncomfortable with only he and Percy. It was wrong. The cozy room wasn't supposed to feel that way. Lonely. Empty. Boring. He'd even prefer the panic of the other night.
Percy returned to picking at the rope for a moment, then yanked his hand away in sudden fury.
"I don't think that's going to work," Ron said.
"Which is why I stopped."
Of course he had. And Ron had just proved himself an idiot in Percy's eyes. His sleepiness had channeled itself into a steady push of energy, albeit one that left his mind still clouded and reeling. Good thing he didn't really care what Percy thought.
"You're doing it, too," Percy continued.
Ron looked down to find his own fingers tugging vainly at the rope. He quickly stopped.
Percy gave a small laugh, strangely loud in the room.
"Shut up. You're the one who won't be attending my funeral."
Percy studied him until Ron jerked his own gaze away, silently daring him to re-attempt the eye contact.
"Don't stare at me. It's weird."
"It's weird to be so possessive of a funeral you're not even attending. "My funeral", you say? Come one."
Ron flung himself onto a chair. "It's my body." He wouldn't be tricked into going. He wouldn't.
"Your body. How impressive. Such power in that old adage. It's a decaying object they're just going to throw into the ground."
If only he could pick up one of the pillows and chuck it right through Percy's stupid head.
"Maybe they'll just cremate you instead."
Ron shuddered involuntarily. Cremation would be almost worse than the spiders. His body thrown into a kiln like a piece of pottery.... "Just because you didn't have a funeral doesn't give you the right to get so excited about mine."
"But yours could be so interesting."
Percy was interesting. Interesting in a twisted definition that could only be applied to things so awful they earned it on bizarreness alone. Ron couldn't figure him out, not with so foreign an attitude. Was Percy joking? Attempting to? Yet a strong brand of trademark earnestness ran through every taunting comment. No, Ron had seen it before, on a rare few nasty occasions. He had hated it then, and he hated it now. "But you didn't have a funeral. Your body was probably dumped in a river. Or eaten. Hope you didn't make anyone sick."
Percy scowled and swore again at the rope.
"I don't think the rope likes that."
"Ron, it's an inanimate object that doesn't like or dislike anything."
So much for the joking.
"Let's just go find the Baron," Percy said pallidly, drifting towards the far wall. "Or Nick."
"You find him." Ron had just managed to hover a proper distance against the chair. He wasn't about to give up that small token of psuedo-comfort. If only he could fall asleep.
"You'll be coming, anyway." Percy disappeared into the wall.
Ron didn't move, but awaited the now-familiar pain of the binding pull. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, an entire minute passed.
"Percy?" he called tentatively. No answer.
He jumped up and shot to the opposite end of the room, still expecting to feel the binding's jerk. It never came.
"Ron?" Percy popped back into the room, glasses askew.
Ron felt a rush of disappointment. Percy had been on the other side of the wall all along. But. . . the common room wasn't that small. . . .
"I was on the other end of the school before I realized you weren't following me."
Ron held up his wrist and examined the rope. It didn't seem any different. "It must have stopped earlier."
Percy furiously readjusted his glasses. "When?" The question was loaded; he already knew the answer.
"Probably when we decided to use up a day a couple hours ago."
Percy swore again and disappeared.
Immediately the common room was a little more cheerful.
Ron slunk back into the chair, head spinning with amazement and annoyance. Whatever had undone the binding was too simple. Exactly how many hours had they wasted? Well, it was done, and he was happily missing out on a funeral and Percy.
But now what was he supposed to do? Everyone was asleep, apparently too grieved to risk a little midnight prank or two. Not that he wasn't sure Jillie or Cornelia or some other ghost would pop out at any moment. He actually wanted to just curl up in the chair and fall asleep, if that were possible.
The girls' staircase beckoned to him, and he would have gone to it if the memory of the barrier wasn't so fresh. Despite Percy's semi-attempts at reassurances, he was still worried about Ginny. She hadn't been seen since she had ran up there two days before. Something other than Ron's death was wrong. Did she truly blame Harry? No attempt at changing that belief had been made.
Since he couldn't check on Ginny, there was always the last resort of spying on people. The thought almost made him happy. No, it made him quite happy. No one could see him, and Percy wasn't around to chastise him. With renewed excitement, he rushed through the wall and into the hallway.
There was something energizing about the dark corridor. He had experienced it before, at least a version of it, on those countless sneakings with Hermione and Harry, that tingling sensation of being the only ones existing in utter emptiness. It was a good feeling, one that seemed to intensify itself now that he was alone. Yet there was also a slackening. Somethign was missing, with Hermione and Harry gone. Ron hovered in the air, staring up and down the hall. Portraits stirred in their sleep. He doubted they could see him if they were awake. No matter. Portraits were dull. He drifted past them, scarcely caring. The hall twisted continually on itself. Ron had never before appreciated how maze-like the school could be.
Then the darkness before lit in silvery-white. He feel back as a group of ghosts floated past him, chatting among themselves. They nodded and smiled at him, if anything at all, oblivious to his look of horror, before continuing on their way.
Of course they weren't going to think anything of him. He was just another ghost haunting the school. Rather infuriating. He could chase them. Like they'd care.
So he continued on to the Slytherin common room.
He still couldn't get over how ugly the place was. No wonder so many Slytherins turned out so nasty–they were forced to live in Slytherin tower.
Two staircases climbed up in opposite directions toward dormitories. He had no desire to spy on Slytherin girls. Why put up a barrier against what no one in their right mind would do? But which one was which? He studied both, searching for any tell-tale difference, a feminine bow or something. There was nothing. He finally picked what he decided was the more sinister and made his way up it, bracing himself for the shock which didn't come. He paused at the landing before seven doors, just in case.
He had done it. He hade made it up to the Slytherin boys' dorms. He could haunt Draco Malfoy. How jealous would Harry be if he ever found out! Laughing to himself, he went through a door. A Slytherin door. How disgusting.
Beds lined the wall, their curtains drawn. They could be hiding anything. He stuck his head through one. A little tow-headed boy had wrapped himself in his blanket and was snoring into his pillow. A first year. Still reasonable innocent and naive. That is, until he suffered nightmares of a ghost in his room. Disappointed, Ron pulled out. Years as prefect had not yet managed to instill any interest in first years.
He found the seventh years' dormitory next door. Perfect. Sneaking upon Malfoy was a lifetime dream, one that would come true if he could somehow appear to Malfoy. And of course that depended on the assumption Malfoy would awake.
The first bed belonged to Crabbe, who was drooling over his pillow.
The next was the one he sought. Malfoy's. Ron popped his head through the thick curtain. Malfoy's normally perfect hair clung haphazardly to the pillow, and he was curled in that childish fetal position. It was almost, Ron thought with a grimace, cute.
Malfoy muttered something and shifted his arm, revealing an object nestled against his neck. Surprised, Ron leaned in for a closer look. He had to be imagining things.
It was a teddy bear. A raggedly brown teddy bear with eyes enchanted to change colors. Creepy, but not inappropriate for a Malfoy child. A faded red ribbon was tied around the neck.
"Priceless!" Ron exclaimed aloud. If only there were a camera around.
Malfoy's eyelids fluttered.
Ron froze. Had Malfoy heard him? He hadn't truly expected this. But there it was , a chance to haunt Malfoy.
"Malfoy has a teddy bear!" he sang loudly.
Malfoy didn't move.
Ron felt a surge of disappointment. That wasn't fair. He had just thought he was becoming visible to the living world. Or Malfoy was just a deep sleeper.
He sighed and gave the teddy bear one last look. There had to be some way of letting Harry know.
Morning was almost too long in coming, bringing with it an appreciated released from the miseries of night and boredom as well as the discouraging fact that the day was actually passing. After the initial delight of the teddy bear discovery, the spy game had grown dull. Most people weren't that interesting during sleep. But it had been a time away from Percy. But it had also hacked further at the hours of their separation.
At least the funeral hadn't yet started. Ron watched in morbid interest as a group gathered outside the Great Hall. His funeral party. There were the expected: Harry, Hermione, Hagrid, Luna, the rest of the Gryffindor seventh years. Ginny had emerged from her two-day self imprisonment and hung back from the group, morose, gingerly responding to the girls' attempts to comfort her. Various teachers joined, as well as other students Ron had reasonable contact with. Black being the color of the school robes, Ron thought he would be used to the color, but on this occasion even the little change in outfit presented a mood too somber.
"Not a bad turn-out," Jillie remarked. She and Cornelia had joined him on the staircase above.
Ron stared at her. "You act like it's a contest."
She shrugged.
"It means you're well-liked," Cornelia said as what she thought was an explanation. "It's depressing when no one comes to your funeral." She burst into flames. "I had an excuse because of the war, of course."
"Funerals are depressing no matter what," Ron said.
"Don't think that way," Jillie said. "Maybe you should go. It might be good for you. And it is only proper."
"Are you going?"
She made a face. "No. Funerals are depressing. Especially mine. Though the entire village did show."
"I'm going," Cornelia said, brushing the last of the flames from her robe. "I think one of us should go."
"Percy is already going," Jillie pointed out.
"He doesn't count," Ron muttered. Since when had they all been 'us'?
The funeral group began to file from the school. It was a relief to watch them go.
"I'm off," Cornelia said cheerfully, and she flew down and out of the door.
"She's invisible, right?" Ron asked Jillie.
"Yes. We're always invisible when we talk to you. We may be ghosts, but we don' want to look like the lunatic kind that talk to empty air in front of the living."
"I hate being invisible."
"You'll adjust very soon. And that will certainly be for the best." She frowned. "You aren't looking well."
"That's because I'm dead," he snapped.
She rolled her eyes, as if expecting the comeback and not at all impressed by actually hearing it. "You just look awful. Tired. But that's to be expected for new ghosts. It also makes for good haunting–"
"Haunting?" echoed a jubilant and familiar voice. "Little wee ghosties want to go a haunting!"
"Hello, Peeves," Jillie said tersely, slowly turning around.
Peeves the Poltergeist hovered behind them, all bright colors and a wicked grin. He hugged a handful of berries stolen from breakfast. "Hauntings can be mean. Not nice to go a haunting. Especially new ghosties." He nodded solemnly at Ron, who cringed. "New ghostie should go a haunting at a funeral."
Great. Even Peeves wanted him at the funeral.
"Perhaps I should go," Peeves mused.
Jillie stifled a laugh.
"Peeves could mourn at funeral. The Weasel's funeral."
Somehow, Ron doubted this.
"But this means I have a new friend." He laughed and let a strawberry plummet to the floor, where it burst apart.
"I'm not going to be your friend," Ron said. Thought the poltergeist was easily among the more interesting ghosts of the school. But it was a strange thought that Ron was now a fellow ghost, now a student for Peeves to torment.
"Me thinks you should consider that!" Peeves picked an extra ripe berry and sent it spinning through Ron's head.
"Hey!" He managed to duck the next berry. "Knock it off!"
Peeves only cackled and threw another.
Ron didn't much care for objects being thrown through him. No wonder Moaning Myrtle had hated the sight of the things sailing harmlessly through her, leaving no affect. It was disturbing. "Look, first years!" He pointed wildly at a group of children heading into the Great Hall.
"Firsties!" Peeves cradled the remaining berries in one hand and shot towards the unsuspecting students.
Ron waited for the first cry of surprise to pass. "That was easy."
"It not hard to distract him," Jillie said. "Poltergeists exist only for mischief."
Several berry remains were splattered over the floor. Real, physical strawberries. "Peeves is solid," he said thoughtfully. "How come?"
She shook her head, expression blank. "I think it's just the fact that he is a poltergeist. The must be a little different from normal ghosts."
"He probably wouldn't give you a straight answer if you asked him."
"That's true," she said with a laugh. "Let's leave before he bores of the living." She floated through the ceiling, vanishing. "So what are your plans for today?"
Plans? He had no actual plans. Which is why he followed her into the above classroom, an empty one with only desks and a leathery dragon skin stretched across one wall like a great scaley tapestry. It reminded him sorely of his brother Charlie. He stuck his hand through it, trying to imagine what it should really feel like. "I don't know. What do ghosts do?"
"Lots of things."
"Like what?"
She tugged absent-mindedly at the sleeve of her oversized robe. "I don't know. What do you like to do?"
"Quidditch." The first thing that came to mind.
"Quidditch? What do you want to play that for?"
"It's fun," he said defensively.
"Fun." She sighed. "But hard to play when you can't touch a broomstick. I'm going to the library. Maybe Binichan will be there." She Vaporated.
"Binichan?" Ron echoed. What kind of name was that? He wondered if Jillie had a crush on someone. Were ghosts allowed to have crushes?
The library. Percy had mentioned something about Ron looking for information on the ghost council. And information usually meant library. But what books there would mention the spirit world in such detail? He supposed he could return to the common room. Not all the Gryffindors had gone to the funeral. Perhaps some were even outside playing Quidditch. Mocking him because he couldn't play. Jerks. He sighed and decided to work on his Vaporation. He had spent the last few days mainly drifting along or being drug by Percy.
"Common room," he muttered. Common room.
A rush of color sped before him, the chairs of the common room, faces. He was thrown into the air roughly, somewhere above a trio of third-years playing chess.
"Maybe we should have gone," one was saying. "After all, he was one of our prefects."
"I know," said another. "But funerals are depressing."
They all nodded.
Smart little buggers, Ron thought.
The stairs to the boys' dormitories were at his left. He still hadn't visited that old room yet. He floated up the steps, leaving the third-years to compare various funerals they had been to. The door to the seventh-years' dorm hung open, forgotten in the funeral rush.
The room was silent, dim save for the sunlight peaking through the window's drawn curtain. His bed stood where it had always been, ghastly dark and comforting at the same time. He held his h and up the curtain. It was no more touchable than the dragon skin had been. He moved through them, a momentary vision of threads before his eyes. Even more boring than the wooden door. His blankets had not yet been stripped from the bed, but instead were neatly tucked in beneath the mattress. He poked his head out. His trunk was gone. So was Pig's cage. The stupid little pest, he thought. Who was taking care of him now? Ginny had always adored him. He could imagine Pig fluttering about the girls' dorms, Ginny spoiling him with treats.
He sighed and hovered above the mattress, as close to the surface as he would get. It wasn't at all the same. The bed was no longer his, just school property to be passed to some other student who didn't appreciate the fact that Sirius Black had attacked it. Still, he could pretend. He closed his eyes.
"Meowr." Something jumped onto the bed, rumpling the blankets beneath Ron. His eyes shot open. Had he fallen asleep? Had he been dreaming? The blankets. . .
No. A ball of ginger fur was curled up at the end of the bed, a pair of glowing golden eyes staring.
"Crookshanks," he muttered, sitting up. The cat's eyes followed him, slowly intensifying.
Could the cat see him? He stared. Crookshanks began purring.
"Hey, Crookshanks," he murmured, reaching forward until his fingers hovered inches before the cat's tattered ears.
Crookshanks hissed, snapping claws at Ron's hand. With an instinctive cry Ron drew back. The claws had gone right through him, of course. With another hiss Crookshanks leapt off the bed and darted out the door.
Ron floated from the bed, almost wanting Crookshanks to return. How perfect. Hermione couldn't see him, but her stupid cat could. But it had been rather nice to be recognized by something living. Perhaps it was a sign.
He went to the window, the curtains sliding through him. The sun was high, rays striking blindingly at the lake. So time had passed. But he couldn't have fallen asleep. Percy had said so. Yet some of the fatigue seemed to have slackened. He stared into the woods. Dangers over the past few years had increased the warnings against entering the forest, but what harm could come to him now that he was dead? There were no rules keeping him inside the castle.
He pressed himself against and through the glass. The ground was a dizzying fall beneath him.
It was almost as good as a broom.
With a shout he pummeled through the air, catching only the faintest sense of a breeze. It was better than any broomstick. He had never been very acrobatic, but perhaps. . . no, he couldn't bring himself to attempt a flip.
He was now over the forest, the treetops jutting beneath him in green spirals. He dove into them, the branches motionless as he passed through them. Even so he expected the scratch of needles and leaves that didn't come. The lacking contrast furthered his excitement. The tumbled past the branches into an empty path, the ground nearly jumping up to meet him. He jerked to a stop before it. That strange, sucking feeling was strong in his mind.
The cry of a bird rang out before the creature itself appeared, a blue streak aiming right for his head. He ducked as it flew over him and up into the trees.
"Bloody bird," he called, shaking his fist after it.
And then it appeared. From the direction the bird had flown came a series of footsteps, hoof beats that made Ron turn. It stepped into the path, and he screamed.
He knew what it was. He had studied its' kind in class, heard people describe them. Heck, he had even ridden one. But that had not prepared him for the actual viewing of a thestral. It stood calmly before him, ghastly eyes staring at him with all the threat of a puffskien. And yet its skeletal form, the gigantic blackened wings. . . it was roughly something out of a nightmare. And it could see him, and he it.
The wings shifted once, stretching slightly out with the space of the path, and it took a step forward. The bones twisted with unseen power.
It's going to kill me, Ron thought. It's going to trample me and eat me and. . . He was being an idiot. The thestral could do nothing.
But how could he see the thestral? Hagrid had said in class that someone had to watch someone else die in order to see the creature. But Ron hadn't seen anyone die. Harry and Voldemort's fight had hardly been visible. Had it been himself? Did that count? He hadn't exactly watched himself die.
Without thinking he approached the thestral, which snorted and stamped the ground with one hoof. But it seemed friendly enough. "Hello," he said. Bloody hell, he was talking to a horse. Did he expect it to reply or something?
The thestral further extended its wings. They came out like rolls of black parchment. One brushed Ron's arm, nearly knocking him over. It was warm, leathery.
He screamed again and jumped into the air, his shoulder cutting through a branch. The thestral stared up at him, curious. It was his imagination. It had to be. He was a ghost. He couldn't touch anything. Not even a thestral. His arm seemed to throb where the wing had struck him.
Mustering all the courage he could find, he floated down to the waiting horse and held out a hand. The thestral nuzzled its warm nose into it. Ron could feel the ragged skin and bones, the hot breath. All real enough and utterly tangible.
He had fallen sleep and was dreaming. He had to be.
Just in case, he Vaporated quickly back to the common room.
Shoutouts!
Written in Stars: Earth Star is very cool.
tina-leo18: Thanks! I'll tell you soon how he died. Soon…. I'm glad you wouldn't attend your own funeral, either! At least someone's getting it!
Tap-dancing Widow: It probably would be therapeutic, but then again, this is Ron.
starsmiles: Yes and yes. And I'm still getting through your story! Just slowly. Blame college. But it's good!
Shaman Dani of the Flamingos: First off, I love your name! Very cool! Thanks for calling my story original! I'm not sure where it came from, but I think I actually have inspirations. ("Ghost" and Dan Yates novels)
patty smith: I hope to make something exciting happen soon. =)
Padfoot the evil elf: I couldn't separate Ron from the spirit world. 'Sides, it's too much fun to work with. =)
nkittyhawk: I'll tell him off for frightening you. also attacks fax machine
Neoepiphany: Well… you'll hear the events of the funeral. giggle Thanks for your comments.
Moony vs. Padfoot: Ooh! Accounts like that are fun! I'll try to remember your differences! And I'll try to get around to reading your story! I love fics, but I'm at college where evil professors make us work. cries Thanks for your comments!
Magenta's Cherish: Ooh… I like you caught that about Ginny! About walking through walls… I see what you mean, but the Platform 9 ¾ seemed just walking at the wall and coming out somewhere else. At least that's how I see it. I'll have to ponder that. Thanks for bringing that up. And you give such helpful reviews!
liseli vaniba-kateb: Thanks! Great name, by the way.
LJ Fan: Actually… Percy's usually invisible when he's around Ron. Probably should mention that somewhere along the line. blush And Ron will make contact with Hermione, I promise.
Libby Bird: Yay for pretzel sticks! needs to go buy some When are you updating your Hedwig story?
Kaitee: smacks forehead Dude, you're right. Thanks for pointing that out. rushes off to fix
Jane Taylor: Thanks, Mom.
Jamie McFly: GET OUT OF MY CHAIR!!! Just kidding. You're perfectly welcome to it. And my books. And everything else in there that isn't personal.
Hydrangea: looks around Yes, this will be a Harry/Ginny fic as well. That's my favorite ship in the whole wide world.
Hi Im Crazy: Thanks!
Hiddenflame42: He already is having these moments where people sense him. Sort of. He'll get there. Thanks!
From the Silent Planet: Don't worry. The clock and the ghosts being stuck and all that will eventually be answered.
duj: Yeah, Percy is one of the more interesting characters in the series. He's great to work with.
DespairingAngel: Nice to know people find it original =)
Crystal Lightning: I read your chappie! dances
awkward: Curse your mother and her computer issues! (Sorry!) I'm glad you liked the Ron/Percy interaction. I did write that chapter early in the morning, so I was worried about how their conversation might come off. So… no critiques? I rely on those!