Chapter Three
He found an ad in a discarded Prophet advertising for Slanigan's Solution for the Stubborn Spirit. Slanigan turned out to be a red-faced, portly wizard with shifty eyes. His "solution" was to bark orders to his two hapless assistants who ran about the flat shouting Revealing spells. Each object of the room was intently scrutinized by the red-face tyrant who looked more as if he were about to rob the place rather than remove a stubborn spirit.
He watched in frustration and gritted his teeth. "She's not even in that room! I'm telling you she's standing right there." And he gestured to the stubborn spirit in question who looked vastly amused by the entire affair.
Slanigan looked annoyed at being corrected and turned to Draco, his bulbous nose flaring larger in anger. "I'll have you know that I've been doing this for 4 years, boy, and don't need the likes of you telling me what's what. We're professionals! And I think we would know where this ghosty is better than you would." He chuckled condescendingly. "Just stay out of the way and we'll be done in no time…then you can pay us our fee."
Malfoy's were never addressed in such a way! His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your filthy mouth. You're speaking to a Malfoy and, if you want to retain all of your limbs, I would suggest you rein in your two idiots and leave immediately." His voice was a growl. "And, were I you, I wouldn't be expecting payment. You won't be seeing a knut from me." Hermione looked impressed. There was a swelling sensation in his chest that had nothing to do with the anger he was feeling.
Slanigan's face was slowly turning purple and he was doing a fair impression of a fish gasping for air. Then he turned as a cry of excitement came from down the hall. "Sir, I think we found the ghost!"
Hermione hadn't moved. She turned laughing eyes toward him. "I wonder who they found!" She walked quickly to the sounds of the excited chattering of the assistants. "They've found my white bathrobe," she called back to him, giggling.
Slanigan turned back to face him. "We've found your ghost! A fee must be paid!"
He arched a brow at Slanigan. "I think not," his face reflecting his boredom. He was done with these frauds. The sooner they were gone, the sooner he could find someone else qualified to handle his problem.
"Never mind, sir! It was just a bathrobe." The second assistant called out.
Slanigan bared his teeth in a grimace that was meant to be a smile. "Fine. We'll be leaving now." With a barked order, Slanigan and his assistants left.
Hermione was back at his side. "Was that really the best you could find?" Looking at her, he saw her raised brows and laughing eyes. She's way too happy for someone who could very well be dead.
He sighed resignedly. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
She snorted. "Just make sure they didn't steal anything. The way that man was salivating over my grandmother's crystal vase was disconcerting." He couldn't help but silently agree.
An impish smile came to her face. "Just to let you know…if you keep drinking like you have been, you'll be seeing Slanigan in the mirror—only with blond hair." She laughed at his horrified expression.
"What?!"
"You are aware that firewhiskey—any liquor really—makes you red-faced; it gives you those little red veins in your nose. Not to mention that it makes your midsection expand until you have the appearance of a pregnant woman." He looked thunderstruck. "I knew appealing to your vanity would work," she said with an annoying, self-satisfied smile.
His eyebrows snapped together at that last bit. He turned and strode to the kitchen. Where did I put that blasted Prophet?
His next find was Madame Svetlina's Alternative Answer for Unwanted Hauntings. Madame Svetlina was a thin, breathy figure who glided around the flat in her long, flowing robes of fuchsia. Her voice was cracking with age as she moved trance-like through the rooms calling on the spirit of the dwelling to reveal itself to her. With every other step, she'd light her wand in a spell that would give off a smoky trail of perfume. After ten minutes, he had to squint to keep sight of her form through the smoke.
Hermione was standing beside him watching the woman skeptically. Hermione was never one to believe in "alternate" answers. Take third year, for instance.
"That old bat is going to set off my fire protection charms."
Sure enough. As the smoke started to rise, there was a piercing screech and the ceiling opened up and released a shower of water on their heads. It stopped as soon as it had started.
He watched as the soaked figure that was Madame Svetline walked toward him. Gone was the air of breathiness. She looked drowned with her robes hanging heavily from her frame. Great streaks of black mascara were running down her cheeks.
She glared. "I have done all I can do. Whatever being that still resides here is your problem." She stalked to the foyer and was gone with the slam of the door.
"That went well," Hermione said, voice choked.
He looked to her and found her face contorted in her effort not to laugh. Always with the laughing. He would have laughed, too, except that he would only be laughing at himself and that would never do. He applied a drying charm quickly to rid himself of the water dripping from his clothes.
"Why can't they see me? Why is it only you?"
He had been wondering the very same thing. "I have no idea, but I wish you'd haunt someone else."
"And I wish you'd leave my flat! So, we're even," she said immediately. "Nothing left to do, but help each other."
"How is it that I need help from you?" he asked, incredulous.
"I have made it my personal mission to help you stop drinking. It's very bad for you, red veins and all." Then, as an afterthought, "And, honestly, you need a sense of humor."
He growled in frustration. "I fail to see any humor in being annoyed by the girl I hated most from Hogwarts!"
She adopted a hurt pout, but it was quickly gone. "You may not, but I do. Whether it's because I don't entirely remember you, I'm not sure, but I find it great fun to annoy the hell out of you." She gasped. "This must have been how you felt when you did the same to me at school! What was that expression you always had? That arrogant prat expression?" He frowned. Arrogant prat, indeed. His frown deepened when she smirked at him in triumph.
"The question is: when did you develop a sense of humor?" he challenged.
"First year," she said without pause. "One has to have a sense of humor to be friends with both Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley."
That surprised a laugh from him. "Isn't that a bit disloyal?"
She shrugged. "They'd probably say the same of me," she said, grinning.
He moved to the sofa and sprawled lazily. Rubbing a hand down his face in exhaustion, "Today has been a long day."
Never missing a beat, "That's because you've been awake longer today than the last week combined."
"I think I liked it better when you used to give me dirty looks in school and didn't talk to me directly." Standing decisively, he strode to the door. He needed to borrow an owl. He'd give it one more try. Third time's a charm, after all.
He was conscious of being followed. He could hear her singing under her breath something about calling ghostbusters. He shook his head. It had to be a muggle thing.
He climbed the stairs to the next floor and knocked on the first door he came to. He was surprised when Lavender Brown greeted him from the other side.
He saw Hermione scowl and so he grinned charmingly at Lavender just to further irritate her. "Why, Lavender Brown, what a surprise to see you."
Lavender leaned against the doorjamb and smiled slowly. "It is a surprise! What is it that has brought Draco Malfoy to my doorstep?" Hermione gagged.
"I was hoping to introduce myself to my new neighbor, and ask to borrow an owl to send a quick message. But now that I see that we've already been introduced, perhaps I can convince my lovely neighbor to have me over for tea." He smiled winningly.
Hermione glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?! You'd catch a disease merely from being in her presence." She turned her glaring eyes to Lavender who was quite unaware of the death stare she was receiving from her former housemate.
"I can put on a pot now, if you'd like," Lavender fairly purred.
He smirked. "Maybe tomorrow," he promised. "Right now, I'm really in need of an owl. Do you have one?"
"Of course, you can borrow Daisy! Let me fetch her for you."
Owl in hand and with a promise to come the next day for tea, he returned to his flat. Daisy was chirping in excitement and looking at him with adoring owl eyes.
"I see alarming similarities between owner and pet," Hermione said, clearly disgusted.
He smirked. "Jealously doesn't become you, Granger."
She made a sound of derision. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Just send your bloody note and be done with it." She moved to stare out the window.
He sent Daisy to the hag in Knockturn Alley who stepped out of the fireplace moments later.
She stood for a moment blinking against the bright light of the sun filtering in through the windows. "You're right, boy, I do feel a restless spirit here, but where is she? I don't see her."
"Apparently, I'm the only one who can," he said sardonically.
She eyed him. "That's a gift. Be thankful for such a gift."
He rolled his eyes. "I assure you, this is no gift." Hermione scowled at him. He continued. "She doesn't think she's dead, and, though it pains me to admit, I think she's right. She's like no ghost I've ever encountered. Beseeching the spirit to pass on didn't exactly work. As a matter of fact, she's here more than she was previously."
The hag scratched her beak of a nose thoughtfully and cackled. "A smart spirit you have. The gel just may be right. She feels very alive. The space beside you glows with life."
Surprised, he looked to Hermione whose expression mirrored his own. "Not half bad," Hermione said thoughtfully.
Closing her eyes in concentration, the hag said, "I think the gel likes you, boy. I can feel it in the room."
Hermione snorted. "Never mind, I take it back." He smirked at her, enjoying her discomfort.
The hag's eyes twinkled. "Looks like I've embarrassed her."
"So, can you get rid of her? Send her back to her body or something?" He didn't have a clue how this was supposed to work.
"I don't think there's anything I can do. She's tied to you. It has to be you to help her." She cackled again. "You'll find a way. Malfoy's always find a way...even when they're not Malfoy's anymore." And then she winked.
He was again surprised. How had she heard about that?
"Oh, ho! You were disowned?" Hermione sounded delighted. "Draco Malfoy doesn't have his Death Eater father to hide behind anymore? That's rich!"
The last shreds of his control vanished and he rounded on her in a fit of rage, eyes narrowed viciously. "Mind your own bloody business! No one asked for the opinion of a Mudblood!" He shouldn't have said the word, but he was beyond caring. He stalked to the bedroom and slammed the door.
"You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, gel." Then he heard a burst of flame as the hag departed. His breathing ragged, he concentrated on regaining control of himself. He shoved away from the door and moved to stand looking out at the darkening sky.
He turned his head slightly when he felt her presence. She had glided through the wall to stand contritely by the bed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're trying to help me…in your own bizarre way, but help me, nonetheless." Hands clasped behind his back, he turned fully to face her. "I suppose that was something I should have already known, huh? About your parents, I mean."
The silence grew between them. Neither doing anything but staring at the other.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" And then quickly, "You don't have to if you don't want to! But if you want to talk, I'm right here, not going anywhere." She gave him a small smile. "I'm a pretty good listener, too."
He turned away from her smiling face to gaze out the window. Be it exhaustion from being mercilessly "haunted" this last week, he didn't know, but he was very tempted to confide in her. Something was telling him that he could trust her. It's official, I'm insane, he thought.
Against his better judgment, he told her the story. He told her all about his decision to run away from home and about how he had found refuge with Snape. He told her how Snape had employed him for communicating information to the Light; that he reported directly to Dumbledore with high priority information. Finally, he told her about when the war had ended. He told her of his being recruited for tracking down Death Eaters in hiding. Nearly six months it had taken all of them to locate the last of the Death Eaters. The last being his parents.
"They hadn't come quietly, as you can imagine. Mother was caught by a rebounding curse and was struck down immediately. Father went out by means of his own wand. He never was one to take defeat well. If he was to be killed, it would be on his own terms." He sighed heavily. "They disowned me when I left. I had some money saved, but, as far as the Malfoy money and estate, it's not mine." He turned to block out her pitying gaze. The last thing he wanted was her pity.
"I wish I could touch you right now." That shocked him enough into looking at her questioningly. She just shrugged in reply.
"I don't need your pity, Granger," he said softly, wanting the conversation to be over.
As if sensing this, she tried to lighten the mood with, "So, let me get this straight…You were grouped with both Harry and Ron to hunt down Death Eaters?" She laughed. "How did THAT go?"
He smiled slightly accepting her change of subject. "Not very well. Lots of arguing and fights, but our commander didn't want to hear any of our pleas to be separated. He maintained that our skills worked well together as a team."
She graced him with a crooked smile. "Skills, maybe, but not personalities." After a long pause, she said, "So I guess you're stuck with me for a while until we can figure things out."
He rubbed his face in frustration. "I'd rather it be sooner than later."
She turned serious and started pacing before him. She had the same look as if she were in class trying to figure out a difficult problem. "First, we need to get in contact with someone who knows me. It needs to be someone who wouldn't care that they'd be talking to you despite the ass you were back in school—" He thanked her sarcastically. "—and it needs to be someone without any sort of morals, so they won't feel the need to tell either Harry or Ron." She stopped pacing to turn to him with a self-satisfied expression. "And I know just the two men that can help us."