Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter Three: The Ghost-Who-Wanders

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Little Hangleton Cemetery

His anger spent for the moment, the new Spectre stood immobile for a minute, just watching the horizon. The lights coming from the muggle houses in Little Hangleton soothed him. Next to him, a very subdued Nagini curled up, and seemed to be sleeping. Somehow, the air of menace that surrounded the gigantic snake had dissipated along with the dark cloud Harry had extracted from her head.

Gradually, Harry Potter replaced the grim avenger from beyond.

It took several minutes for the nocturnal insects to resume their usual activities. Until then, a pathetic chirping and a pained moaning were the only sounds in the cool night.

Harry smirked. His vengeance on Voldemort and his followers was almost finished. He sat on a tombstone, and putting his elbows on his knees, he spent the next few minutes thinking.

On the ground, close to a dead body, the Tri-Wizard Cup lay forgotten.

Hogwarts

The scene was a complete chaos, not only Karkaroff, Snape and Moody had fallen to the floor, screaming in agony; a few Seventh Year Slytherins had done the same. They had all trashed uncontrollably on the floor, desperately grabbing their left forearms, screaming in pain. Dumbledore had vanished the sleeves of the victims robes to allow Madame Pomphrey to examine the patients, only to find the Dark Mark in all of them, even in Alastor Moody's arm!

Somehow, the snakes branded on their skin had become real snakes, and bitten their owners, poisoning them fatally. Madame Pomphrey had quickly admitted defeat, as the venom was beyond anything she had ever encountered. Not even the Healers called from St. Mungo could do anything. The poison was incredibly potent, maybe on the level of basilisk poison, although not as corrosive.

'Why would Tom kill his own followers?' was the question in the old wizard's mind. 'And how? This magic goes beyond dark…' conjuring a very long stick, he poked at the snake in Severus Snape's weakly convulsing body. The creature released its prey, and ignoring the stick, hissed a warning to Dumbledore. A moment later, it sank its fangs back into the Potions Master's skin.

The animated snake seemed determined to remain there until the man it was attached to was dead and buried.

Somewhere in the stands, Hermione Granger looked around, her brown eyes darting from one place to another, looking for Harry Potter. She whispered, more to herself than to actually tell somebody else her thoughts. "Something is wrong. Very wrong… Harry should have been back by now."

She descended the stairs as fast as she dared, intent on asking the Headmaster or any Ministry employee about her missing friend. Her heart felt heavier than a lump of lead inside her chest.

Little Hangleton Cemetery

Harry stood, and walked silently to where two human bodies remained. Cedric Diggory's corpse, still with his eyes open; and his own corpse, wounded and empty. Harry knelt down to pay his respects to the fallen, true Champion of Hogwarts, carefully closing Cedric's eyes.

He stood up, and crouched next to his own corpse. 'I wonder…', he thought, next to the body that once had housed his soul.

Harry touched the corpse's forehead, where the hated scar split the skin, still raw and red. It didn't bleed anymore. Idly, he straightened the old eyeglasses over the body's nose.

"I am a ghost. A Spectre. But maybe… maybe there's still a way…"

"Yup, maybe there is one, kid." A new voice broke the silence. Harry turned around, to face a strange apparition.

A thin man, pale as a corpse, and wearing a strange red suit. Tight as a second skin, with a tall collar that rose to two points above and aside his head, a big letter "D" over his stomach; impossibly seated on a thin, dry branch that would have broken under the weight of a small bird.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry asked, his fingers curling into claws, ready to attack. His robes flared green again, and his face paled in an instant.

The apparition jumped down from his perch. "Wowowow! I come in peace, Spec!" The apparition raised his empty hands in surrender. "The name is Deadman. Aerealist extraordinaire, master of trapeze, and wandering ghost, at your service. Deadman was my professional name back when I was alive. Boston Brand, at your service. But you can call me Boston, if you want."

"By the way, Corrigan sent me. He was a total hard ass, but he thought you might need a friend, somebody to talk with, somebody who knew more about the big world out there, and most importantly, who wouldn't freak out at your new… um… lease on life? He was lucky to find me in the way up. I usually don't hang much in Limbo, that place is depressing as you have no idea. Anyway, here I am."

Placated for the moment, Harry returned to his normal look, while the red ghost sat on the air, legs crossed in lotus position. "For starters, you might want to try exactly what I think you were thinking of trying. Your body wasn't physically hurt, so you can still go back into it. Just keep in mind that you'll have to leave a tiny bit of your power to keep it animated while you are doing your stuff. If you don't, it will go back to being dead, with everything that comes with it."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, sure, and what do I have to do for that, uh?"

Deadman shrugged, "Well, if you want a demonstration, just let me show you how it is done!" he hesitated a moment, before continuing, in a much less enthusiastic voice, "Please don't take it the wrong way… I just realized it will be somewhat disrespectful, but I am not going to mess with your recently vacated body; and I already have the former owner's permission, just so you know it. I met this guy Cedric in the other side, I was talking with him when Corrigan found me. When he heard I would be meeting you up, he said you have to remember what he told you when his spirit appeared. Not your fault, buddy."

With those words, the dead acrobat jumped down from his unseen seat, and like a diver jumping from a high platform, dove into Cedric Diggory's body, disappearing inside. A moment later, the corpse of the true Champion of Hogwarts stirred, blinked twice, and sat up, creaking his neck. "Maaaan… It really feels weird…" He worked the mouth for a few moments, like he was trying to get rid of an offending taste.

'Cedric' sat up, and after a few warming exercises, jumped back and forth all over the cemetery. He did cartwheels, walked on his hands, twirled and twisted impossibly, demonstrating an agility that the Hufflepuff had never shown in his life, as far as Harry knew. Finally, he sat down on a rock that maybe once had been a tombstone. "It doesn't matter how many times I do this, it's always a rush!"

Harry sat down on another slab of granite, watching 'Cedric', "You were right, it was disrespectful." He watched the other for a few seconds, "Why are you glowing green?"

Deadman waved 'Cedric's' hands for a moment. "Uh… you can see that? It's an effect of my hijacking bodies power. I thought I was the only one who could see that. And I can only see it directly, mirrors and recordings don't show it. I have no idea of what it does means. Or even if it actually means anything, you know…" He answered, scratching his head. "If you don't mind, I would like to go back with you to that school of yours, from what little I have seen of this magical world of yours, you could get blamed for Cedric's death if you go back alone or with his corpse."

Harry sighed. "Yeah… I can see it would probably go that way. Okay, you go back with me, say goodbye to Mr. Diggory posing as Cedric, and go. I don't mind having you around, but possessing a dead body is creepy."

"Let me tell you… hijacking living bodies is not exactly a picnic. I always end up running either into or away from danger."

"You will have to tell me more later. Right now, I am not really sure what to do. I just got rid of the biggest threat to Magical Britain, and…"

"I know, it feels somewhat anticlimactic, right? Been there, buddy; maybe I'll tell you about it someday."

"Yeah… it's like the biggest question in the world is 'Now what?'" Harry looked at his hands for a moment.

"Far from me to tell the Spirit of Most Gruesomest Revenge what to do with his… um… life, but maybe getting back to your body before it begins to get ripe could be a good idea…"

Harry smirked tiredly. "So… what do I have to do?"

Deadman/Cedric crossed his arms, "Just step into your body, if things go as I think, you will simply get back in, and reanimate your body. Easier than putting your long-johns."

Harry nodded, and stepped into his own corpse. Deadman waited patiently next to him, while Harry got reacquainted with his corporeal form. Eventually, the body pushed itself up, standing like a toddler, a bit unstable. He almost fell down, but Deadman grabbed him by the arm while Harry got his bearings. "Breathe deeply a few times before you try to walk. Believe me, it is a bit disorienting the first few times. I speak from looong experience. Well… unless you got the good ol'adrenaline pumping, but I don't recommend that."

Harry moved with difficulty. "I think the curses did worse than I had thought. Everything hurts…

"Yeah, that's normal, if I may apply that word here, pal. By the way, you need to breathe deep a few times more, your body needs to remember that."

Harry obeyed, he could feel the night smells around him, but strangely dulled. He could feel the cold air in his throat, carrying the somewhat pungent smell of Nagini, of the dry grass that covered the hill, of melted flesh and exposed bones. But as if he was a long way from the place.

Gringotts

A light buzzed on Ragnok's desk. It was one he had hoped would never turn on in his lifetime. The goblin tried, futilely, to suppress a shudder. He called for his personal squad of guards. Without a word, he beckoned them to follow him into the deepest level of Gringotts. Before descending from the mine cart, he held his hand up, with a gesture that held a very clear meaning for any goblin, "Don't ever speak of this to anybody."

He walked briskly to the oldest vaults vault 6, vault 5, vault 4, 3, 2, 1. The ones set in the most secluded place.

And he kept walking further along the oldest tunnel. He needed to be sure.

A few minutes later, Ragnok stood in front of a vault that hadn't been opened in centuries. The only vault in Gringotts that had no number. The vault that held the only account in Gringotts that would never, ever, be closed.

On the iron and lead door, the image of a woman's face, surrounded by a tangled mane of wild hair; had silently screamed in total immobility, not ever moving a fraction of an inch in living memory. But tonight, the eyes of the sculpture shone with a dreaded white light, and the mouth moved slowly, as if trying to remember some long forgotten words.

Under the screaming mask, a decorative scroll that had been empty before, now showed a name.

The name of the new owner.

Ragnok wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Hurriedly, he and the guards returned to the upper levels of the bank. Ragnok dismissed them

The goblin sat heavily on his chair, and chose the best piece of parchment, the rarest quill, and the most expensive ink at his disposal. He had a very important letter to write. He made sure his personal owl looked perfectly imponent. The bird of prey preened for a moment, presenting its wings for inspection. Ragnok studied the creature for a few moments, and nodded, satisfied.

The successor of the Banshee would be notified immediately of his new responsibilities, and Ragnok hoped to avoid a storm of wrath that would probably arrive to his door very soon.

Author Notes:

One of the most intriguing aspects of the Ostrander-Mandrake run, was the introduction of a whole set of previous Spectres, starting right in the Year 33 AD (for a very, very specific reason). Very little was shown of the previous Spectres, but it was very interesting to see the character reinterpreted through different cultures.

The first Spectre, Caraka, hailed from India, a murdered family man, who raged at the gods for the murder of him and his family. The goddess Kali gave him the choice to go to his next reincarnation, or to take the mantle of the Spectre and get revenge for his family (whose souls had been reaped by an evil wizard), condemning himself in the process.

200 years after Caraka, a new Spectre was chosen, this time, a woman who was later called a banshee by a warrior. Little is known of her beyond that. Not even a name, or if Banshee was the name she took. For this story purposes, she acted in what now is Great Britain.

The next few Spectres were only shown in a single panel each. A Frenchman killed during the Revolution (most probably a noble),a fearsome looking Arabic warrior, and finally, Corrigan's immediate predecessor in the role, a Native American, who indirectly and unknowingly set events in motion for Corrigan to be the next Spectre. (there is another panel in the montage, but the characters in it can't be seen clearly. Later on, in Issue 27, first part of Desecrations, two more Spectres were added to the list, a black man and a black woman, but no info was shown about them).

Most of this was shown during DC's Zero Hour event, which had the premise of resetting or adjusting the story of many DC characters. In the Spectre's case, issue Zero (Oct 1994) set the stage for one of the most satisfactory endings in comics history.

The whole Desecrations saga (The Spectre, Issues 27 to 31, Mar 95 to Jul 95) set a very high bar, using the background of the Spectre to an incredible degree; not only the things set in that particular run, but taking stuff from the long history of the character, bot good and bad.