AstraeltheDestroyer: Reese Witherspoon is definitely in it.
Chapter Two
He laid there eyes wide for several minutes. He couldn't return to sleep. No matter how much he willed himself to. Or how tightly he closed his eyes. He accepted that he couldn't return to sleep. His curiosity wouldn't rest. So he shuffled to the bathroom to clean himself up before heading downstairs to knock on the manager's door.
"Just curious, but who was the person who lived in that flat before me?" he asked when the manager popped his head out.
The balding man scratched his head in thought. "Well, I don't know much about her. I know there's been some kind of tragedy, but that's it. Her friends and family have been tight-lipped about the whole thing. Just asked me to rent out the place as is and to look after it; that it was only temporary."
He nodded his thanks and retreated back into his flat. A tragedy? he thought. He couldn't fathom the idea that she was dead. But could there be any other possibility? Like it or not, she was a fixture in his life—a constant—and to have her taken away when he needed normalcy more than ever? He sighed and rubbed his face in exhaustion. Sure, he never liked her much, but that was the role they both played. It was understood from the beginning that they would never like each other. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Slytherin and Gryffindor. Never two groups more destined to dislike one another. He had never wanted her to die. He may have thought it in the heat of the anger, but he never truly meant it. He always felt guilty once his anger finally died.
So, he came to a decision. She was a spirit that was having trouble passing on. He'd do her the favor of helping her pass. If not only to relieve his conscience, then to get rid of her so he could sleep. He left in search of a mystic shop in Knockturn Alley. A special place where one can find…special items…He thought it the best place to start. It had no name. It was known only by word of mouth. And, as Lucius Malfoy's son, he knew where to find it. He went there as a boy and he hadn't been impressed. In his opinion, it had been a lot of hype about nothing. But he had been too young then to understand the significance of the shop. Now, it was his destination.
He looked for the alleyway. The entrance was hidden by crates, which made it difficult to find. The whole of Knockturn Alley was littered with crates. All the same from the next. He passed it up and had to turn back. He located the door and slipped in silently.
"I was expecting you, Mr. Malfoy," the raspy voice said through the smokiness of the shop. The owner appeared suddenly to his right and nearly scared Draco out of his wits. The hag cackled and then grinned crookedly. "This way," she said beckoning him with her withered hand. She led him further into the darkness of her shop.
"So then you can help me? You know what I need?" he asked her anxiously.
"How would I know that? I don't even know what your problem is," she replied, looking at him as if he were crazy.
"You said you were expecting me!"
"Yes, because I saw you coming from my upstairs window," she cackled again.
He stopped to look at her incredulously but continued on with a shake of his head. He followed her to a small, lighted sitting area. She seated herself in a high backed armchair and he followed suit. "So, what brings you here, boy? You were not but 12 the last time I saw you. It has been a long time." Her face contorted to what possibly could have been mystery, but the crazy look in her eyes ruined whatever effect she was hoping for.
"I'm er, having a ghost problem. I want to help Gra—I mean, the ghost to pass on," he didn't want to say her name. Chances are that no one else knew. If it been had known, then the whole Wizarding community would have been abuzz with the news of the death of a war hero. Even in his state, he would have heard that. No, no one else knew.
She peered excitedly through the fringe of hair covering her eyes. "You've set yourself a task, haven't you, my boy? Quite the task…I think I know of some things that can help you. Yes, yes, I think I may know…" her voice trailed off as she rose from her seat to bustle around the shop. He could hear her scurrying about. The scurrying paused and then started again. Then he could hear her drawing closer and, the next thing he knew, he had a pile of books dropped in his lap. Heavy books. "That should do it, I think. I'll just put those on the Malfoy family tab."
He remained silent. Let her figure out later that he had been disowned. He stood with difficulty juggling the seven heavy books he was given. He hurried back to his flat.
The light of day was already fading. Grey clouds rolled in blocking the setting sun. Luckily, he made it back to the building before any rain fell. He dropped the books onto the coffee table with a thunk. And with a wave of his wand, he lit the candles in the room. He shrugged off his cloak and tossed it over the sofa. No time like the present.
He sat on the sofa and chose a book at random. He read a few passages before tossing the book aside in disgust. He changed his mind. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.
"Don't you dare throw around books!" She was back.
He turned to look at her glaring form. He rolled his eyes. It figures, he thought. "Wouldn't dream of it." He smirked. It had been far too long since there had been humor in his life. "It's good that you're here. I want to help you—"
"Help me?! You, sir, are still in my flat. I think out of the two of us, you're the one in need of help. Of the psychiatric kind!"
"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're dead. You're a ghost. A little blunt, I know, but that's the best way to give bad news." He took a breath. "I'm going to help you pass on. A word to the wise, if you see a bright light, walk toward it."
"What are you talking about?" she started backing away slowly. "I am not dead. And there is no light!" She looked close to panicking.
He stood and started walking toward her. He held out a hand to try and calm her. "Don't get upset. You really are dead though." He paused. He motioned for her to look down. She had walked through the dining table and was currently standing through the middle of it.
She let out a small scream. "What is happening?" She was definitely panicking now. "I am not dead!" She made to hit him, but her hand only lodged itself in his head. When that didn't work, she began to wriggle her fingers.
"Hey! Stop that!" He took a few hasty steps back. He shuddered. What an odd feeling.
She yelled in frustration. "I can't even hit someone properly!" In his opinion, that was a good thing. He'd be black and blue otherwise. She could throw a punch worthy of any grown man.
"It's ok. Everything will be fine. Being dead isn't so bad. I'm sure there are tons of things to do on the other side. There will probably be a huge library full of books. The library is your favorite." He tried cajoling.
"How do you know?" she sniffed.
"What if I were to tell you that you've known me for about ten years?" he asked.
"I'd say you were a big, fat liar," she replied tartly.
That surprised a laugh from him. "Well, you do know me. My name is Draco Malfoy." She froze slightly. She seemed to recognize it.
"Draco Malfoy? I know that name."
"Of course, you do. We went to Hogwarts together. You and your friends. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley…Is this sparking any type of memory?" He stood awkwardly watching her walk dazedly about the room.
She turned to face him. "My name is Hermione." It was like a discovery. The way she said it was as if her name was a revelation. As if she had forgotten that, too. The only thing still tied to her memory was the flat.
"That's right. Your name is Hermione Granger. Witch, war hero, and general know-it-all," he smiled reassuringly. "You had quite the life. You accomplished in your lifetime what most other people couldn't hope to in theirs." He stopped when she vigorously shook her head.
"No. Fine, I'll agree that I'm not quite…corporeal, but I refuse to believe that I'm dead." She looked to have calmed and her logic and common sense were returning. "I mean, look at me! I'm not silver like most ghosts. I've still retained full color. This has to be something else." She turned to her bookshelves with a yearning eye. "I can't touch them, can I?"
He moved to stand next to her. "No, probably not."
"Oh, by the way, do me the favor of not referring to me in the past tense until we know for certain that I'm dead. Thanks," she said sarcastically.
"We? There is no 'we'. I know this used to be your flat, but it's now mine. And I would really love it if you would stop haunting the place, so I can rest in peace. That's all I want." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This was entirely more than he had intended. It was one thing to help her pass on, but she was right, she wasn't like any ghost he had seen before. The more he thought about it, the more confused he became over his actions. What had gotten into him? When had he ever gone out of his way to help Hermione Granger? More importantly, when had Hermione Granger gone out of her way to help him? The great Harry Potter was her best friend. If anything, she could find Potter and Weasley to help her.
"So, that's it? That's your idea of helping me out?" She looked at him accusingly.
He threw up his hands. "Look! You're right. You're not a real ghost. In fact, you may not even be dead. I have never even heard of something like this. For all I know, this is some elaborate joke you and your idiot friends are pulling."
She crossed her arms and glared at him. "You always were a bastard."
He placed a hand over his heart. "Aww, you do remember." He adopted a look of boredom. "Now, leave."
Her eyes grew calculating. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere."
He should have been worried. She was true to her word. She never left. Not even once. She didn't disappear into air. Or fade into nothing. She stuck by him wherever he went. He couldn't shake her. He couldn't even deter her by taking a shower. She had no qualms about following him into the bathroom. The first time she had done it, he had blushed to the roots of his hair and she hadn't seemed the least bit perturbed. She had just stared challenging at him. After that, he started to shower in swimming trunks.
He could deal with being followed. He could even handle the smart quips she made every time he bought a new bottle of Ogden's. "Another bottle?" "Drink much?" "How's the liver?" But what he couldn't handle was the song. The song she sang loudly each day when he attempted to sleep. That's why he needed the firewhiskey. He couldn't fall asleep otherwise for that damned song.
"If ever a wonderful Wiz there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because, because because because because BECAUSE, because of the wonderful things he does! We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!" And on it went. And on…and on…
He'd finally had enough. He removed the pillow from his head. "OK! Enough!" Kicking the sheets off wildly, he made to stand, but tripped and fell to the floor in a tangled heap. He jumped to his feet hastily. He ignored her laughter. "You're out of here," he said menacingly.
She continued laughing. But still managed to get out, "Ooh, I'm scared."
He stalked from the room leaving her and the laughing behind. "Merlin, I hate that bloody song," he mumbled.