Chapter 5: Energy
"Y'know what? Nothing beats fresh toast in the morning!" Harry grins like a monkey, perched on the edge of my table next to my forgotten coffee cup. My kitchen reeks of bitter smoke, but to each his own, I suppose.
No point in putting it off any longer. "I have something for you." I offer him the note.
"What's that?" he jumps off the table into the air and gives the paper in my hand an interested glance. "A breakfast bill? Didn't know you were that stingy."
Paragon of forbearance that I am, I simply sigh at his quip and unfold the paper, holding it out to him.
As he reads, the excitement on his face slowly ebbs. His hands close into fists and his whole stance grows tense. As he stares at the note, I can't quite decipher his expression.
He looks up. Now I can see an unspoken question lingering in his eyes, as if he doesn't believe what the note says and expects confirmation.
This isn't the reaction I anticipated. He's supposed to be happy to see the note. "Are you all right?"
He gives a terse nod, as if not trusting himself to speak.
I raise an eyebrow. He certainly doesn't look all right. He looks shocked and nervous. Wary, as if he's spent too long trying to collect crumbs of happiness amid darkness and smoke; as if he's forgotten the true joy of seeing a long-lost friend. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!" he finally says, with startling confidence. "Never better."
He reaches for the note, not quite touching, which would be impossible for him to do even if he wanted. His fingers linger with caution and even reverence over the name and the address, as if he can feel that the writing is not a mere illusion. "Where did you get it?"
"Molly Weasley."
"Oh. I never even knew if Hermione survived." He looks at me and his mouth stretches in a shadow of a smile. "Was afraid to ask anyone."
"It's not as if you had that many opportunities."
"Yeah, I s'pose." He chuckles faintly, an echo of a laugh which sounds more like a cry.
I can deal with his anger or his immaturity, but this soberness and sarcasm is unnatural for Harry. He shouldn't be like me. I clear my throat and try to dispel this tension and my own awkward urge to push the paper into his hand or pat his shoulder in reassurance. He's a ghost, I mustn't forget that. "We can see her whenever you'd like."
"How far is Reading?" he asks, but it's clear from his face and intonation that the question might as well be: how soon can we get there?
I haven't been to Reading myself, but I know where it is. "Less than an hour by train, I imagine."
He smiles then, his first content and maybe even joyful smile since reading the note. "Thank you. I really mean it."
I set the note on the edge of the table then and move away, hiding my face behind a curtain of hair and a lukewarm coffee cup. "It was nothing."
I need Granger's help. And it makes Harry happy; that will make the inconvenience of the trip worthwhile. From memory I tally the number of banknotes in my coat pockets, and decide that I can afford this trip, considering that we'd only need one day-ticket and I've already bought provisions for the week. I refuse to withdraw any more money until June, but there should be enough until then.
We can take the train there today and return in the evening. He'd want to see Granger as soon as possible and there's no sense in wasting time.
I've just donned my coat and am brushing away the traces of dust from its threadbare shoulders and sleeves, when a cry from the hallway startles me.
Heart speeding, I open my door, looking up and down the hall. Harry?
"Bloody hell!" he exclaims for the second time.
"Potter?"
His face has gone even paler than usual, faded and hazy as smoke; only his wide eyes shine in the darkness of the hallway. "I'm really going to see her!"
"Yes." Indeed he will. I suppose the idea has finally sunk in, an hour afterwards. So awkward he is, standing in the hallway, staring at my door for a good five seconds, as if it's something he'd lost long ago and suddenly found, and now he's trying to work out what to do with it. Then he looks up, positively beaming, and strides impulsively toward me.
For one paralysing moment it looks like Harry is about to do something embarrassing and irrational, like give me a hug. Then I remember – with rare relief – that it's impossible.
But with an exultant yell he rushes onward, not stopping at all, until he passes straight through me.
A second later, a blurry flash before my eyes and a sudden tingle indicates that he dared to do it again.
Having a ghost rush right through me is the most curious feeling: subtler than might have been expected. None of that melodramatic "chill of the grave", just a fleeting frisson, a soft stir of the air all around me. As for that momentary lift of my heart and the catch in my breathing, any unexpected summer breeze might have the same enlivening effect. Really, it's not even as noticeable as a touch. Much more shocking than the sensation itself is the fact that it was Harry who did it. In fact, I might've been less surprised at a friendly slap on my back or his calling me by my given name.
I watch him spin in wild circles around me then bounce off the ceiling in his exuberance. He pauses in front of the door, and with a cry of "I can't wait to see her!" he's gone. Just like that, straight through the closed door.
But not for long; he pokes his head back in and waves me excitedly onward, "C'mon, let's go!"
Struggling to keep from smiling back in an embarrassing emotional display of my own, I glower instead, as if warning against making a habit of such impetuousness.
How absurd. At least his behaviour was tolerable before he completely lost his mind. In this case, I fear, I have only myself to blame.
I open the door and follow him down the sunlit stairway and into the street.
We arrive at Paddington station just before the eight-thirty train, it turns out. Harry becomes my substitute for a shadow underneath the omnipresent artificial lights, tagging along and goggling at each bright notice or advertisement board as if they're Quidditch posters or any other such nonsense he'd gush over.
When I slip a banknote into the ticket booth window through the narrow gap – one return, to Reading – I frown at the price.
Harry pokes his head into the booth, then fires an impish smirk at me. "Don't start."
Start what? I didn't say anything.
"You were going to gripe about the money, weren't you?"
Not now, I won't; not if he's going to make these pitiful attempts at second-guessing me. I certainly can't have him thinking he was right; I'd never hear the end of it! "Some of us know the value of money," I rumble all-but-inaudibly as I walk away from the booth with my expensive scrap of paper, "while others assume that everything in life is free."
"Pfft." He shrugs. "Just keep the sour face you've got right now and ask for one of those." He nods toward a poster advertising a Seniors' Railcard with a 1/3 discount on fares. "I'm sure you'll have no problem getting it."
Insolent brat! "You're lucky you don't need a ticket," I growl, "because you wouldn't be getting one from me."
"Good," he parries with a grin, "Least I won't have to hear you whinge about the cost of my ticket as well as yours."
The train is just as abysmal as I remember, with its constant crowds and noise and grime and chemical stenches. I don't know what's worse, making my way through the thronged streets of London or sharing this pitiful space with just as many people as there are on the streets.
Harry follows me through the ticket gate and into the car, where I notice that he's much worse off than me. At least I'm seen by others. Being invisible, he has to duck and dodge as one passer-by after another walks through his space, but stubbornly he keeps up with me all the same. I find two vacant seats in the very corner of the car and choose the aisle side, motioning for Harry to sit down next to the window. He declines with a shake of his head and remains upright.
With relief, I notice that most of the people around me have settled down and no one has attempted to claim the seemingly empty window seat next to me.
The train starts moving.
Harry yelps in surprise and gives me a wide grin. I respond with an exasperated look. Honestly, he's hopeless, even as a ghost. And I thought in all these years he'd learned not to behave like a firstie in Honeydukes'.
He sits down, finally, but not in the seat next to me. For some reason he decides that the window frame would make a better seat for him. He slides through the glass backwards as if it isn't even there, and leans back like the careless brat he is; using the window frame for support, he all but crawls out of the window completely. Open mouthed and wide-eyed, he throws his head back in the rush of our slipstream, basking without shame in every bit of sunlight he can get, until he looks as though he is radiating light himself.
'With open mouth he drank the sun as though it had been wine,' The snippet of Oscar Wilde that comes to me as I watch him is ironically fitting to this moment, especially considering where we're going today. Harry does look slightly drunk: dishevelled and giddy with sunlight and the wind and the open air behind the train window and the speed with which the countryside flies by in a green blur, behind his back. Leaning out of the window – through the glass itself as if he's about to fall out any second – he makes my head spin.
"Gorgeous view this time of the year, isn't it," a middle-aged woman across the aisle from me says. I raise an eyebrow and she nods toward Harry's window, "Just noticed you looking."
I give her a scorching glance that halts any other commentary she might've had, and turn my shoulder to her. I have no plans of discussing the view, or anything else. Instead I let Potter have another few seconds of frivolous fun before I beckon covertly at him. "Get in and sit down properly," I hiss, low enough so I'm not overheard by others.
"What'd I do?"
A stern look serves as a sufficient answer: nothing good.
"Git! Just because you can't stick your head through the glass doesn't mean you have to stop others from . . . oh hey, look, horses!" he waves excitedly at the pasture in the window, probably not even realising at that moment that his hand has just passed through the glass and not air.
He calms down as the train approaches Reading and doesn't attempt any other foolish tricks. He talks instead as he fidgets nervously on his seat.
"Hermione'd be able to help," I distinguish for the third time from his frantic mumbling intended more for his own benefit than for mine. "She's bright; she'd figure it out in no time. I bet she doesn't know anything about magic yet. Wouldn't that be a surprise! She'll help us, you'll see."
He keeps repeating it as if he doesn't believe in it himself and wants to reassure himself that it'll happen. "Stop worrying," I hiss hoping I am not overheard taking to the empty space.
"What?" he asks startled. "I'm not."
Really? Then what are all these mumbled reassurances for? I give him my 'You may as well confess now and get it over with' look: the one I perfected on decades of students.
"It's nothing."
"Potter, don't lie." Or if you do, at least try to make it more believable than that.
"What if she's like Ginny?" he whispers at last. "Or Mrs. Weasley? What if she shuts the door in my face?"
Of course, it's not closed doors per sé that he's worried about: those don't even slow him down. "She won't." I murmur.
"How can you be sure?"
"I am." If Granger has somehow picked up the old Wizarding prejudices toward ghosts, she'll have to deal with me. I might like her help on this, but I don't have to have it. And if she's anything but respectful to Harry, she will regret it. "I won't let her." I give Harry what I hope is a reassuring nod.
It prompts a small smile. "As if you can stop Hermione from doing anything. You can't take points from Gryffindor any more."
As if my strategies ever began and ended with anything as obvious as points. Even now, there is much I can do – and will – if Granger upsets him. "Stop fretting. It'll be fine," I murmur softly as the train pulls into the station.
Hermione lives in a 'side-street off Pepper Lane'. That's what Snape said when he checked the address on the map at the train station. Pepper Lane itself is easy enough to find. For a 'lane', it's a pretty big street: wide and leafy, with old trees and green hedges on both sides. But looking for Hermione's apartment building along all the tiny side-streets is much harder, and it takes us ages and a lot of false alarms. I like Hermione's town so far; the bits of it I've managed to see are clean and pretty, especially around the campus. There are a lot of young people around: Uni students. There's Reading University to the left and a primary school to the right, with Pepper Lane between them. Hermione must like living here. It seems like somewhere she'd feel right at home. Wonder if she's going to any classes at Uni? Or maybe she's even teaching them already.
How long has it been? Years! Has she thought of me? How much has she changed? Maybe she's married, or even has a kid or two.
"Potter, get over here. That's the right building," Snape points and soon after we're standing outside the front door of the flat. No wonder we didn't find it earlier: it's tucked well back from Pepper Lane, far behind the trees on a tiny side-street we'd taken for part of the school car park at first.
"Well, go on," Snape nods.
What? What is he expecting me to do? I can't just waltz in there! Actually I can, only it'd be rude. And I certainly can't knock. "You first," I tell him, and back away from the door, all the way behind Snape. At least he's tall enough and if I stay all the way back here Hermione won't see me at first.
He raises an eyebrow, the amused sort, as far as I can tell. "Are you going to hide behind my back all day and let me do the talking?"
"Course not!" Well. Maybe only at first. Just until I make sure that Hermione is all right with me, like . . . this.
"Fine."
He doesn't believe me, does he? He looks like he wants to say something else, like 'Ha!' or 'And you call yourself a Gryffindor, Potter!' Well, he should try talking to Mrs. Weasley and Ginny all evening as they ignore him! And then I bet we'd see how nervous he'd be about Hermione.
Well? "Aren't you going to knock?" Or are you going to just stand there and glare?
"I have to," he smirks, looking very amused at something, and raises his hand to the door. "It's not as if you're able to do it."
No! I didn't mean right now. "Wait! What if she . . ."
"Potter!" He says and I stop speaking and then I realise that I must look like a right berk to Snape about now, a ghost unable to even knock on his friend's door.
"Fine. Do it." What am I scared of anyway? It's just Hermione. I wasn't this afraid to show up in Snape's flat out of the blue, was I? But then I didn't care about what Snape would say.
Snape doesn't knock. Instead he spins 'round. "She's not going to shut the door in your face."
I know that! Well, I hope so! "Yeah, you won't let her."
"Exactly," he growls in that 'woe betide' voice of his. But I'd prefer it if he didn't have to try.
When Snape knocks, there's no answer at first. For a long, long time. It almost looks like no one is home, until a faint, squeaky voice answers back. "Coming. Hold on." Hermione never sounded like that!
Then the door opens an inch, and there's a face, an old lady – old and wrinkled – with dark brown eyes. She looks a bit familiar. She opens the door further and I can see yellowed lace around her wrists and neck and there's this awful smell: mothballs with something bitter and flowery. Lilacs. Eugh! If I can smell it from here, I wonder how strong it really is. Poor bloody Snape!
"Hello, dears, did you need something?" she says. We must've had the wrong address or something. Wait! She said 'dears'! Did she mean me as well?
I blink, and Snape blinks and then he gets this nervous look on his face and turns paler than he already is and asks accusingly: "Professor Longbottom?"
"Professor?" I cry. That's not a professor, that's . . . Neville's Gran! Oh. Wow! Snape's just full of surprises!
"Yes," he nods. "Augusta Longbottom, the worst bloody Defence instructor ever to teach at Hogwarts," he announces bitterly and I can't figure out if he's speaking to me or to Neville's Gran, because he sounds like he's explaining it to me but he's staring at her as if he's afraid that she's going to jump out and bite him. "Which says a lot," he concludes sourly, "considering the idiots they usually let teach that course."
Gran's eyes narrow at that outburst. "I remember you now, young man!" she exclaims shrilly. "You're that snooty boy with acne and bad hair who set my best hat on fire. Couldn't get the stains out of the suede for months!"
"Really?" Wow. Now here's something you don't hear every day! Did he do it on purpose? Wonder how much trouble he was in?
Neville's Gran nods mournfully and Snape looks about ready to explode.
"I didn't do it, you old bat!" he barks. By the way he glares, Neville's Gran is really lucky to get only words for an answer. "She had me confused with Macnair half of the time," he adds in an aside to me, "and the other half she wittered on about the doxies!"
Why'd he tell me that? Probably he gave up on convincing her long ago. That must be it. Ha, poor Snape! I bet he got quite a detention out of it too. I shouldn't laugh; he'll be furious if he catches me grinning behind his back.
"I see you still haven't learned your manners after all these years, young man," Gran tells Snape, just as mournful as she was talking about her hat. I laugh then. I can't help myself! It's the way Snape looks and she looks and oh hell! He's ready to lunge for her throat. I have to do something!
"Hi, Mrs. Longbottom! Do you remember me? Harry."
"Sorry, dear." Neville's Gran squints and shakes her head, unharmed . . . yet. "You just don't look familiar. Age! My head's like a sieve at times."
What? That's the first time in ages that someone didn't recognise me. Well, someone who could see me, anyway. "Harry Potter? From Neville's year. We've met at St. Mungo's that one time. I heard a lot about you at school." I probably shouldn't say that I've heard even more about the way her dress and hat looked on Snape. Not the real Snape, of course, but Neville's boggart in third year.
"Out of my way!" Snape barks at me.
Dammit! I can't really stop him from doing anything, can I? What am I going to do, yell for help? Swing my fists through his chest? He'd step right through me if he wanted to. Well, he'll have to! Cause until he does that, I'm not moving!
"Oh hush," Mrs. Longbottom scolds him. "If you've got nothing decent on your mind, don't speak at all. When it's the dead bloke who's the more pleasant of the two of you, doesn't that tell you something?"
Oi, don't say that to him! He'll tear you apart and I won't be able to do a thing about it. Wait a minute! The 'dead bloke'?
"Of course it does if you put it that way, you crazy old witch!" Snape yells right in my ear, but at least he doesn't try to move past me. Whew.
Her eyes narrow in disapproval and her lips are in a thin line, like McGonagall's when the twins did something especially bad. "Back in my day, that would've been twenty points from Slytherin."
"Oh really?" he sneers. "I doubt Slytherin was even born 'back in your day'!"
"Young man! This is most . . ."
"Er. . . Mrs. Longbottom. We're here to see Hermione."
It startles her. She coughs and nods. "Hermione? Well, yes, she's . . ." The front door below us slams and she concentrates on the heavy footsteps instead. "Neville! You're home early."
"Gran? What's going on here?"
"Visitors," she huffs disapprovingly and disappears behind the door.
"Good day, Mister Longbottom." Snape growls as he turns to glower at him. He enjoys doing that far too much. No wonder he always harassed Neville in Potions! The sour git probably held a grudge ever since his own Defence lessons.
"P-professor!" Neville, as tall as Snape now and twice as wide in the shoulders, goes white as a sheet and almost falls back down the stairs he just climbed.
"Neville! Your flowers."
Neville stares at me and goes even paler. He collapses against the railing and grips at it with both hands. "Ow. M'fine, s-save the tulips!"
Neville's bouquet drops down the flight of stairs. Splash! Red and yellow petals follow it like a flock of tropical fish.
We haven't been here five minutes and Snape has already caused enough mayhem. What is it with him today? "Look what you did!"
"I fail to see how any of this is my fault, Potter."
"What's all this noise . . . HARRY?"
"Er." That's not the way I expected to see her. Not at all. "Hermione?" She's got glasses that cover half of her face, but besides that she's just the same, skinny and with a wild frizz of hair. She's even got a heavy book in her hands: some things never change.
She turns as pale as Neville and stares at me, the way Neville is still staring at Snape. Oh, this is not good. Not good at all!
"Why, Miss Granger. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Stop it!" I hiss. I'm not going to let Snape stand there and make me feel embarrassed to see Hermione. She can tell what I am without Snape's sarcastic comments.
"That's . . . it can't be."
"Of course it's him." Snape sneers. "Who knows what else you've missed, spending your life with your nose in a book, as usual. I doubt you'd notice it if even magic was suddenly back." Hermione blinks and gives him a sour glance.
He's a fine one to talk about books! If he keeps this up, he'll have to deal with his nightmares on his own!
"It is back, by the way. Did you know?"
All of a sudden I remember why we hated that greasy bastard at school so much!
"So you had better stop gawking at Potter as if he's a circus freak and ask him in, so he can tell you all about it."
I'm a what? Oi!
Hermione's face isn't so white anymore. She narrows her eyes and glares. "Don't call Harry that! I don't care if you were a professor; nothing gives you the right to insult my friends in my house!"
"In that case, it'd do you good to invite him in first."
Hermione swings the door open with a murderous expression and Snape smirks, looking satisfied. Too satisfied. What's the greasy git up to now?
I can't believe I dropped the flowers! They were for Gran and Hermione. The best batch of the season so far.
Hermione really didn't have to shut the door in my face and leave me out here. With Snape. Shutting the door in Snape's face I can understand, but she didn't even notice me. Of course Hermione does that a lot. Not noticing. Still, that wasn't very thoughtful of her. I might just carry on sitting here and let her figure out how to cook dinner on her own.
I suppose I should be more surprised by seeing Harry's ghost at my door, but I'm not. It's just, couldn't he pick a better time to show up? Like when Hermione wasn't so busy studying for her exams. And did he have to bring Snape with him? That wasn't very thoughtful of Harry either.
Snape looks smaller than I remember from Hogwarts. But just as dark and grim.
"S-so, P-professor . . ." Err. What else should I say to him?
"Mr. Longbottom." He nods. His voice is as deep as ever too, but somehow it doesn't sound quite as terrifying as it used to, when he loomed over my cauldron in class and the potion in it just boiled over, as if on his command.
"Do you live around here?" Please, don't live next door! We just settled in. I'd rather not have to look for another flat.
"In London."
London. That's far enough. I haven't been in London since everything that happened. The trip before my last, I found the dummy at Purge & Dowse silent for the first time, and a week after I saw it removed. Muggles opened a record store there instead. Ever since then, the glass in the window was just glass, and nothing else. I knew that, but I wasn't quite brave enough to touch it to make sure. I wasn't brave enough to go near that place afterwards. I've seen enough of it in my dreams: that place and Mum and Dad, trapped behind the glass, silent, plastic dummies in the window display. Now that I know Snape lives there, it's another reason not to go to London. I hope he goes back there soon, and stays far, far away from us, because his glare and his silence are as uncomfortable as his Potions class used to be.
"Aren't you going to go in?"
"No." Not until Hermione apologises! "Why are you even here?"
He smirks wickedly, as if he asked me a Potions question and I answered wrong and it's 'twenty points from Gryffindor!' "What do you do for a living nowadays, Longbottom?"
"I take care of flowers. At the florist's." I stop myself in time from adding 'sir'.
"Ah, and are you doing well?"
"They haven't complained yet."
"I suppose then that your job calls for neither an extraordinary intellect nor the common sense required for other less menial tasks," Snape snarls. "I can see why you failed to notice that Potter isn't fit to travel anywhere alone in his current state!"
I mustn't cringe. He isn't even my teacher any more. "I'm sure a simple florist like me can never comprehend that, cause I certainly don't see a single reason why Harry'd ever ask you for help!"
Snape looks amused at my attempt at returning his fire. "Tell me, Longbottom, have you ever had a relative come back as a ghost?"
Err. "No. Gran had met a few though."
"And do you know how they were treated?"
"I know they usually weren't welcome." It's no wonder so many ghosts ended up at Hogwarts afterwards – I remember Gran saying – if they could somehow make it there from their family's castles and dungeons and crypts.
"Longbottom," Snape leans forward, lowering his voice, "if you so much as breathe a word of what I am about to say to anyone – living or dead – you'll find yourself in more trouble than your insufferable grandmother could ever stir up."
I nod.
"What Potter feared most was Granger shutting the door in his face. And he had very good reason for that fear. I came here to make sure that didn't happen."
Yeah, Hermione shut the door in Snape's face instead. …Hang on! Did Snape make her mad on purpose? So she'd forget to be shocked at seeing Harry? "Never thought you'd care."
He hmphs and stretches like a shadow next to the wall; thin and sallow, with black strips of hair hanging over his face, as ugly as the vulture on Gran's favourite hat. "I don't. It's simply an unfortunate circumstance that he has no one else to count on."
I think about it. In a twisted sort of way it makes a lot of sense. I suppose even the shock of seeing Harry's ghost would fade in comparison to Snape swooping down like a crow and yelling insults.
I work at the florist's. And maybe it's not much by Snape's standards but most of what I know about life I learned there. I always thought that plants have the right idea about living: grow, seek light, and bloom. They're a lot less complicated than people. Like people, there're so many different sorts of plants: tulips and roses and orchids, and even dandelions, and then there's a prickly cactus that's never going to bloom, stuck in a plain pot somewhere in the corner.
Even the cactus deserves its place under the sun, no matter how obscure its purpose might be.
My job is simple. I take care of plants and of people too. It was that way ever since Hogwarts cancelled classes and I went with Hermione when she was sent home. She was crying because she'd just got the news about Ron, and Harry was hidden away somewhere, and everyone else had their own worries. She had no one else to count on. So I said I'd go with her to keep her company, and I did.
Right after our Wizarding Wireless went dead I was so worried I Apparated home: my first real Apparation that I didn't bugger up. Gran got me out of there before the building collapsed, and I got her back to Reading. Afterwards, no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't Apparate to St. Mungo's, but I didn't feel so bad, cause Gran said she couldn't either.
I didn't realise it that day, but much, much later. No matter how hard I try sometimes, I can't take care of everyone. I cannot save everyone.
There was no time to waste crying over something I couldn't change; I still had so much to do. "I suppose I raised a decent lad after all," Gran said. "Now find me a new home." So I got a job, rented a flat, and started a herb garden in the small pots on the window sill. Gran taught herself how to use the telephone and got used to the new radio and she didn't need much looking after. But when Hermione started Uni classes and offered to be flatmates, she was absolutely hopeless when it came to exam time. She would've forgotten to eat for days if I didn't remind her to have dinner. First she was heart-broken after Ron was gone, and then she was absolutely miserable about her cat. I did my best to help her through.
That's my purpose, after all. I take care of plants, and occasionally of people. And I can respect others who try to do the same thing. No matter how obscure and prickly they are about it.
"Aren't you going to go in?" Snape nods toward the closed door.
I shake my head. "No."
"Why?"
"I'd rather wait. Hermione will eventually notice that I'm gone." Ha, right. Maybe she'll cook too.
"Granger'll never apologise for leaving you here with me. Stop sulking," Snape says quietly. He sounds almost human.
"Harry won't ever thank you for looking out for him. He won't even notice." Hermione never notices me, no matter how I try. "And he'd only be angry if he did."
"I know." Snape nods, as resigned as if that's exactly what he's been expecting all along.
I know it too. When you decide to look after someone, their gratitude is the last thing on your mind.
Hermione leads me through to the room filled with potted plants, green and leafy, some in a pot as big as a cauldron, others tiny, planted in teacups with chipped edges. Neville's Gran is there, with three dusty old hats laid out on the tea table in front of her. She has a heap of something purple and wilted with the same strong flowery smell – lilac – in a small basket and is tying a handful of purple blooms around the rim of one of her hats.
"What's the lilac for?" I ask her.
"Didn't you know? It drives away spirits, m'dear! Try it sometime."
"Err. I'd rather not." Since I'm one of them now.
"Well, don't blame me if you get stuck with a stray ghost or two."
Hermione winces and motions for me to follow. "Sorry, Harry. Sometimes she gets a bit confused."
"It's all right. I sort of worked that out."
She makes her way through the piles and piles of heavy books in a tiny room the size of a cupboard. I follow her, drifting through the table with the papers piled high on it, and just float there aimlessly as she picks up some books from the chair and sits down.
It doesn't take long for all the questions to start. "How'd you find us? Where were you before? Are you staying? What does he mean: magic's back?" Hermione really hasn't changed a bit. Still the same know-it-all who can't stand to leave a question unanswered.
"Whoa, one question at a time! Er. Mrs. Weasley gave us your address. At Hogwarts, and the rest is complicated."
"No, Harry!" She drops the books in her hands abruptly; they clatter on the floor with a loud thump like bricks and she points at the resulting pile. "That's complicated. This is mental! Explain yourself!"
I try to read the covers; they're full of 'isms' and roman numerals. I think they're law books. Either that, or physics; I'm not really sure.
Hermione taps her foot impatiently. I can't think when she does that! There's not much to explain. "Well, I'm obviously a ghost. Stayed at Hogwarts until I found Snape. Then I met Ginny and Mrs. Weasley and heard that you live here. That's all, sort of . . . err, I can walk through walls and float really well now. Great to see you, by the way! How are you doing?"
"No! That's not 'sort of' all! That doesn't explain why you showed up on my doorstep – without so much as a word in seven years, mind you – with Snape who suddenly declares that magic is back . . ."
"But, Hermione, I already . . ."
". . . In fact, that doesn't explain anything. Is the magic really back?"
I can't argue with her, never could. It's better just to tell her all I know. "Yes, it is. And I need help reopening Hogwarts!"
She blinks. Then stares blankly. Then takes the heavy-framed glasses off and wipes the lenses nervously with her shirt sleeve.
Uhh. Not good. "Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"It's the truth."
She sighs and puts the glasses back on and rests her chin on her folded hands. "Start at the beginning. Slowly." The round, brown-framed glasses make her look a bit like an owl. Or Trelawney! I probably shouldn't tell her that, cause she'd kill me if she knew. If I wasn't already a ghost that is. "And please prove to me that there's at least some sense to your story, because right now I find it hard to believe anything. You've been gone for seven years, Harry, and now you're back like this. Right now, I don't know what to think, and that alone is reason enough to question my own sanity."
But she has to believe me! She will, when she hears everything.
And so I tell her about the abandoned castle, even less friendly than Snape's flat, the way it looked to me at first. The flat was dark and cold and small, but at least someone lived in it, someone who could see and hear me. All I got from Snape at first were silence and insults, but at least he knew that I was around. That I existed. There are some things I don't tell: about Dumbledore or Snape's dreams. I tell her about Ginny instead and how she was able to cast Lumos and levitate the teapot.
And Hermione listens to me. She nods, and smiles, and even wipes an occasional tear in the corner of her eye. She listens! She really pays attention and believes what I say. And it's like these seven years have never happened at all. But they did happen and there are squibs all over Britain, children with magic are being born and growing up unnoticed, Dumbledore is homeless and couldn't even see me, Mrs. Weasley works in a restaurant just trying to get by, and Ron isn't here anymore, and Ginny didn't really want to talk to me at all, and Snape has bad dreams almost every night and this great big scar across his chest and still carries his wand with him everywhere and refuses to admit that anything is wrong with him and that's why "We need to reopen Hogwarts!" I tell her. We just have to, isn't it obvious?
She doesn't reply for a long time. "I see. Let's wait until we tell Neville and discuss this logically," she says.
"You believe me, don't you?" Please, let her believe. She's older but she's still Hermione! How could she not believe me?
"Yes," she nods, "I think I do." And then she smiles, the same smile she had as a girl. The way she only smiled with me or Ron, because we didn't care how her two front teeth looked like and would have never thought to tease her about it. And everything is all right.
"So, you . . . and Neville?" I ask her later.
"What?" She laughs nervously. "Oh, no. We're just friends."
"Oh."
"Good friends. He stayed in Reading ever since everything happened. I don't know what I'd do without him and Gran."
Right. It's good to know Hermione had someone to look after her. "So, what're you doing now?"
She grins. "Studying. Reading. The usual. Should be done reading Law this year."
"Oh, wow. You're a lawyer?" She'd make a brilliant one. She'd make a brilliant anything. I think of SPEW and smile at this grown-up lawyer Hermione in her new glasses and with her new books. "Great!"
She sighs and glances at the piled tomes. "Not yet. For all I know, I might not be at all. Oh, Harry! What if I fail?"
I laugh then, ignoring her appalled face. Hermione, she never changes. She knows she'll ace all the exams and I know it and still she'll be a nervous wreck until it's over.
"I want to hear everything," I tell her. "What'd I miss out on?" And she does tell me everything.
Justin Finch-Fletchley called and Seamus emailed last week. They are doing just fine with their new jobs. And Gran's a pretty fast typist, who'd've thought it? Hermione only figured that out when Gran offered to type a paper for her one day from her notes. She's been Hermione's typist ever since. Neville started a small garden in a hidden spot in the surrounding woods, but hasn't been able to cultivate any magical plants, only Muggle ones. Hermione and Gran have been trying to get the orchids to bloom by his birthday in a couple of months. Hermione has two exams coming up next week and her cousin's daughter is in the hospital but everyone's hoping for the best.
"So you're staying with us then?" Hermione asks out of the blue. "The flat isn't the biggest in the world, so I guess it's good that you don't need much space now. Gran can be irritating but I suppose she won't be too bad, especially not after you've had to put up with Professor Snape."
Staying here? But . . . I can't. Not now, not when everything is coming together. I came to visit. I can't just stay, like this, can I? Course I can! It's Hermione, and Neville, and I can, and they'd only be happy to take me in.
But why does it have to be now? When magic is back and everything is all right, and it's finally starting to get warm in Snape's flat. It is warm, and not just there too. Every time I'm around him I feel it. Energy. Like sun on a plant. And it's the same kind of warm energy I get next to Hermione, or even Neville. They have it too!
So does that other warmth even matter? If I really want to stay here, I can. I don't have to go back with Snape. There'd be more than enough warmth for me in Reading, among Hermione's books, and Neville's plants, and Gran's antique hats. I think Gran even thinks that I'm a living person sometimes. Mrs. Weasley's flat was colder, but this one is warm, I can feel it. I'll never be cold next to them, cause they're my friends and they'll never ignore me. They care about me. That's what the warmth means, I know that now. It means people care. And it's all I ever wanted when I was alone at Hogwarts: to find my friends again.
But what about everything else that I've wanted since then: Hogwarts reopened and magic returning and Snape teaching Potions? What about Snape's bad dreams and all the bottles under his kitchen table and the stack of newspapers next to his window?
"What is it, Harry?" Hermione's voice startles me.
"I can't."
"But why?"
Don't ask me this, Hermione. "We just came to visit. I can't stay."
"I don't understand."
"I can't stay. I can, but not for long, only until Snape leaves." And he'll probably go back to London tonight. I saw him buy his return ticket myself.
I look at Hermione. She bites her lip. Looks back. "Is it because you have to?"
"No." Absolutely not!
"Then why?"
Because I can't just walk away. Because I want it. I'm choosing this; I want to stay with him. But how can I ever explain it to her? She'll think I'm mental. I can't even explain it to myself yet.
I try anyway.
"I'd love to. But you've got Neville and his Gran. And Snape lives all alone." I'm afraid that without me he wouldn't talk to anyone in months. "I don't know how he survived in London all these years. He still uses candles, and he has these horrible dreams almost every night, and Merlin only knows where he finds money for food."
"But, Harry, you can't help him with money. And I hate to say it, but a ghost isn't exactly the best company for a lonely old man. There're all kinds of stories about wizards going crazy when . . ."
Why does everyone keep saying that? "I haven't driven him crazy yet, have I? No more than he's driven me off my head. And he isn't old, really! He just seems grumpy and mean because he's tired of people."
"So why'd he ever put up with you?"
I don't know; he just does! "I'm not 'people', I suppose. Well, not anymore at least."
"Oh."
Maybe it was the wrong thing to say to her. "It's all right, really. I'm a ghost now. I'm fine."
"Are you?"
"Yes. Just fine! Don't worry."
"But I am! I'm surprised that he didn't find a way to banish you on the same day you arrived."
I smile at the memory of Snape trying to ignore me singing in his loo. "He did threaten to banish me in the beginning. He was terrible the first few days. You wouldn't believe how much talking I had to do just to get him to be normal."
I don't think Hermione really believed that one. "This is normal?"
Well, for Snape it is. "He wants me around, I think."
Her eyes open even wider. "Really?"
"He lets me read his books. And he tells me things." He played chess with me and taught me to ride a bike. He asked me to stay. Would he do that if he didn't want me around? "He's not so bad. Things changed." All it took was time. He warmed up to the idea. He warmed up to me.
"They did, indeed," Hermione says softly with the kind of smirk that Snape would have.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't you see?"
"See what?"
"You like him now and it shows."
Oi! I didn't expect that. I really don't know what to say! But then Gran pokes her head in the door, thin-lipped and stern, and saves me at last. "Can anyone explain why my Neville's been sitting outside our door for the last hour with Severus Snape discussing the cultivation and use of Cannabis sativa of all things?"
Then Hermione gasps and heads for the door and forgets all about me for the moment.
Neville shows me all of his plants – he named one after Trevor, silly bloke – and Hermione talks about her parents and her classes, but all I can think about is what Hermione said before, about Snape. That I liked him. Why did she say that? What made her think of it? How'd she notice?
Snape is Snape. Same greasy bastard as he always was and I don't treat him that different, do I? It's just, he was there, and I had nowhere else to go, and then he kept having bad dreams, and I couldn't just sit still and watch him twitch and occasionally mumble something unrecognisable in a hushed, creepy kind of whisper all night. I don't think he knows that he does that! Course not. He's asleep, and who's there to tell him? Only me.
Like Snape said, it was necessary for us to get along. Only, I didn't do it 'cause it was necessary. I did it just 'cause it turned out to be fun. Wasn't it great to do something once in awhile that would shock the sour git? He's the only one besides me who can see my dreams. They fascinate him, I can tell. He's such a bitter bastard that it's a miracle to get him to stare at something with that flabbergasted look or to show a faint smile. I like surprising him and playing tricks on him in dreams. I even like listening to him, most of the time when he isn't being an arse.
I like him.
Bloody hell! Who'd've thought that'd ever happen?
I think he likes me too. Like Hermione does and maybe even more, 'cause her energy still feels faint and unsure and Snape's is just there, clear as day. Like a candle flame. Maybe it's 'cause I got used to it with time that it got stronger. Maybe it's 'cause he got used to me. You wouldn't expect it'd be so warm, a candle: just a little flickering light, but try holding your hand right above it and it'll burn you in seconds. That's how Snape is and – wow – that's exactly how his energy feels if I just sit still and wait for it and let it reach for me and I probably shouldn't stare any longer cause it's rude and he'll notice.
Oops, too late. Dammit! I have enough problems without being caught ogling the git. Now Hermione'll think I'm completely mental.
Bet Sirius'd be really upset if he saw me now all friendly with 'Snivellus'. Bet Dad would've been too. And Ron; I can just hear him: 'Bloody hell, mate. Are you off your chump?' But they won't. And I won't ever get to see them. Ghosts don't get to meet the dead; I know that better than anyone. No matter how much I hoped to see Mum and Dad and Ron and Sirius right after I first woke up at Hogwarts, I didn't and I won't. Wonder what'll happen to me in a hundred years when everyone I know won't be around any more? I'll still be a ghost and I'll never get to see them again. I don't have much time; I've already wasted so much of it at Hogwarts and hardly even noticed that years went by. Hermione and Neville and Ginny already grew up, and Mrs. Weasley and Snape will only grow older. And I never will grow older like everyone else.
That's another reason to hurry up and reopen Hogwarts. I'd like to be there, help everyone who is still alive, and see them happy while I still can.
Maybe if I can explain this to Snape, he'll understand. He thinks it's impossible. But isn't it worth trying the impossible if there's even the slightest chance to make everyone happy? How do we know if it's impossible anyway if we don't try?
"Magic is back and it's time to reopen Hogwarts. It's that simple!"
"Pshaw. Is that all?" Mrs. Longbottom exclaims and I don't even have a chance to add anything else.
All? Isn't it enough?
"Have you heard anything he said?" Snape barks at her. Once in awhile it's useful to have the grumpy git around, as long as he's yelling at others and not me.
"I've heard him just fine, young man! I've also lived through the two Wizarding wars, an epidemic, a fire, at least a dozen generations of Hogwarts students, and raised this clumsy fool. Magic's returning? That's lovely, but it isn't a cause to celebrate just yet."
"It's never a time to celebrate. Not until we figure out exactly how far this spreads and how to deal with it," Hermione cuts in.
"Oh dear," Neville mutters. "More tea?"
It's best to stay out of it. Instead I watch Snape sniff at the cup and take his first sip of Neville's herbal tea. His face turns even sourer than usual and he nearly spits it back out. I suppose that's a 'no'.
"Let's discuss this logically. It might take years, but we can contact most of the survivors. I've kept in touch with some people from school. I'm sure they'll know others. And with everyone's help we can probably start tracking down those who've had kids since then. It won't be easy, but what else is there to do?"
"Hey, don't forget about Hogwarts," I remind Hermione. "All those new kids will need to learn somewhere!"
"Well," she falters. "Maybe in the future we'd be able to set up some sort of school, a small, private kind. But that would take time."
Another school? "Why bother? Hogwarts is already there." And it's just waiting for us to come back, with all the spell books and magical supplies lying there untouched.
"Harry, it won't work." Hermione adds, "You're probably the only one who can get back to Hogwarts now. The wards wouldn't let us through."
"They'll let the kids through some day, why not try it earlier?" I bet Ginny can do it right now if she tried! She can cast spells just fine!
"It's too dangerous, Potter. Even if we can find Hogwarts. A handful of squibs in a magical castle in the middle of Forbidden Forest; I wouldn't give us a day to live."
What does he know? "Filch survived at Hogwarts for months after everything happened." And he was all alone after Hagrid died. "If he could . . ."
"And do you realise how many enchantments the Headmaster had to alter especially for him just to allow Argus Filch to enter the castle? Forget it. It's unsafe."
"But Ginny can . . ."
"If you so much as suggest this to Miss Weasley, her overprotective mother will find a way to snap your ectoplasmic neck, and after she's through with you, you'll still have me to deal with."
I glare. Snape glares back. Stubborn git! Fine, but I bet Hermione understands. "It's the only way to get the spell books. And all the other magical things. The kids will need them sooner or later. Think of the library!"
Hermione winces. "Actually I am. Sorry, but Snape's right. I'm not going anywhere near it until we find a sure way to reverse the protective spells."
"Why? It can't be that horrible!" We lived there for seven years. I know that castle like the back of my hand and they do too. "Nothing really bad ever happened to us there. Neville, tell her!"
But he doesn't. Instead he shakes his head and says softly: "The summer when Gran and I returned here we had to read every word Hermione saw on paper because she couldn't recognise a single letter for months! I'd rather not do something like that again if I don't have to."
What? "Is that true?"
Hermione nods. "It was really frustrating. I spent weeks learning my ABCs. Over and over, and forgetting them the next morning. All because a single overdue book from that library was hexed with a memory charm that I couldn't shield against or break."
"But . . . that's . . ." Suddenly I remember Dudley and his pig tail that had to be removed by a surgeon and how I laughed at him then and how he wasn't laughing at all.
"That was just one spell, Harry! The kind of spell we would've laughed at back at school and removed with a flick of a wand. Think of all the other things that could happen, the wards, the enchantments. Some books in the Restricted Section transfigure their readers into rats or Petrify them or pull them onto the page. There are cabinets that trap people inside for weeks and doors that lead halfway across the globe. That place is ten times as dangerous for us now without our magic."
"Oh." I think of Hermione stubbornly trying to memorise the letters every day knowing that she'd forget them overnight, wondering if the spell that kept her from learning to read again would ever run out. A, B, C . . . She must've hated not being able to do something so simple. "Do you still have that library book?"
She nods.
"How could you possibly manage not to return it before you left the castle, Miss Granger?"
"Well, I sort of didn't have time to see Madam Pince and then forgot that it was in my trunk when I left." Hermione keeps glancing away from Snape who raises an amused eyebrow at her. "Didn't notice it until the spell kicked in."
"Of course. The book must've jumped into your trunk completely on its own and made itself invisible for weeks. How convenient."
Hermione's face turns bright red. "I meant to owl it back, but I couldn't after everything happened. Could I?"
"You certainly . . ."
"Which book was it?" I interrupt before Snape can harass her any more.
"Hogwarts: A History," she blurts out. "Hey. Don't laugh!"
I'm not! Well, at least I'm not laughing at Hermione. Not exactly at her, just her choice of books.
"You could've at least picked a decent Potions text to steal," Snape mutters, frowning.
She cringes. "Sorry, Professor."
"Don't be. You might've unknowingly saved a piece of our history for the rest of the world. Well done."
Hermione smiles as if Snape finally let her answer one of his questions in class but Snape still looks as gloomy as ever. "If you happen to talk to any of my former students, ask them whether they'd be willing to part with their old Potions textbooks, provided they still have any."
"I'll do that," Hermione assures him.
Wow. I didn't realise Snape missed Potions so much. I should try and make him a Potions book or two in the next dream. Or even the entire library – without the hexes. Maybe that'll cheer him up a bit.
"Honestly, how can you not have a telephone?" Hermione scolds as she finishes scribbling the street and the number in her notebook.
"I've never had a need for it." Snape declares loftily.
"But what if I have to talk to Harry?"
I imagine Snape answering her call and trying to hold a phone to my ear with a murderous expression. I don't think she'd hear me through the phone line anyway. Snape would have to repeat everything I say back to her.
"Write a letter," he snaps. "I just gave you my address."
"There has to be a quicker way." Hermione shakes her head and looks at me hopefully. "Maybe I can summon you here. There must be some sort of a ritual."
"Well . . ."
"Miss Granger, he is neither an incubus nor a genie; you can't simply rub an oil lamp and make him appear."
Incu . . . what? Oh, thanks! I could've done without all those images in my head.
"No, but ghosts aren't limited by distance, only by their connection with human beings. I bet you Harry could get from London to here in an instant if he had to."
"Err. I can try. I'm not sure if I can." The only way I've been able to get from one place to another so far is following Snape around.
"Perhaps all you need is some link to act as a gateway. How did you find Snape when you were at Hogwarts in the first place?"
"I'm not sure. I don't think I can do it again." I was alone in the castle. And all I wanted was to find someone, anyone I could talk to. "I had a dream I guess, and he was in it, and it was his dream as well, and then I was just there."
"Ghosts don't dream, Harry."
"I do!"
"He does, he can enter and modify them according to his wishes."
"Oh! Well, it's worth a try. I'll look into spirit communication, dreams, and hypnosis. Someone has to have done this before," Hermione shrugs and idly starts turning pages ofHogwarts: A History.
"I suggest researching the work of Baron De Sang," Snape tells her. "It's the only part of that book worth reading besides the descriptions of the Headless Hunt."
Hermione gives him a shocked 'you've read Hogwarts: A History from cover to cover' look and mutters: "Thanks."
Snape nods. "Page 427, if I'm not mistaken."
Wait. "Sang who?"
"You've been around him for seven years, Potter. Even you can't be that dim."
Huh? I look at Hermione for help but she just shrugs: "Honestly, sometimes I wonder if we attended the same school. Don't you remember?"
"Err." No!
"Don't answer, think!" Snape stares mockingly in a way that means 'it must be exhausting for you to do both things at once'.
Well, sod them! If they're going to be like this, I'll find it myself. I peek over Hermione's shoulder. De Sang . . . Doesn't sound familiar at all. But from the look of page 427 all he did was research ghosts and ghouls all day long! Poor obsessed bastard! A teacher: he probably taught Divination, like Trelawney. Oh, no, actually History.
And then I see it, right between quotes on Death Day rituals and properties of ectoplasm: 'Without the constant energy source that magical locations often provide, ghosts can exist by absorbing the emotional energy of a living person.'
Wait, it can't be! Is that what I've been doing all along to Snape? Eating his energy? That bloke is making me sound like a parasite! He's wrong! I'm not! Snape's emotions are just as bloody energetic now as they've always been; believe me, I know!
I read further.
'Never changing and never aging past the date of their demise, monotonous and passive in their habits, ghosts remain the most accurate and valuable witnesses of their time for the present day historians,' it quotes a few lines down.
It also says that this bloke later got kicked out of Hogwarts for conjuring up a poltergeist – raised quite a fuss about it too, something about the unexpected by-product of a hex. It says that he wasn't allowed to step one foot inside Hogwarts all his life after that. But it doesn't say anything else about the ghosts.
Is it all there is? Is this all I am now?
Wait a minute. Poltergeist! Peeves. Oh god, he created Peeves!
Baron . . . The Bloody Baron? It can't be anyone else! No wonder Peeves was afraid of him. He wrote this? That bastard! And I was almost ready to believe him too! Pity he isn't at Hogwarts anymore, or I'd find him and show him what I think of it all! And not just for creating that menace Peeves, but for writing bloody stupid things while he was still alive! I'd twist his neck myself and show him how 'monotonous and passive' I can be.
I don't really mean to laugh, but I do. I laugh. At myself and the way – after reading half a page of utter bollocks – that I was almost ready to believe the Bloody Baron about draining energies and never changing and how stupid is that really? I almost believed some prat who conjured up a poltergeist by mistake!
"What?" I stare at Snape and Hermione who share a strange sort of look. Hermione snaps the book shut and gives me a look too, a rather annoyed one. I suppose they're wondering why I'm laughing all of a sudden. Well, I've got an excellent reason to laugh.
"Would you like to keep him, Miss Granger?"
Hermione glances at Snape in surprise, then looks back at me and smiles.
Oi! Wait! Don't I get a say in anything these days?
Hermione looks like Snape when she bends over a book like that. Not this Snape, but the student taking his OWLs in Dumbledore's pensieve. He looked like he followed the curve of every letter he wrote with his nose. Hermione does the same thing when she reads. Occasionally she turns the page or writes down a few words in her notebook without even looking at it.
The phone rings. A minute later Neville pokes his head in the room. "Your mum, Hermione."
Hermione looks up from the book and shakes her head.
Neville frowns and covers the mouthpiece with one hand. "I know, I know. 'Very sorry, very busy, will make it up to her.' S'what I told her yesterday, and the day before. She says she might as well adopt me officially, as much as she talks to me instead of you."
"That's cause you're the only person besides her patients who listens to her gossip for hours. If I could do that, I'd still be living at home."
Neville just shrugs and waits there until Hermione snaps her book closed. "Fine, give it here. I'm starting to think that not having a phone isn't such a terrible thing."
She leaves the room and I take her empty space on the couch, across from Snape's chair. Neville's Gran sits quietly in the corner fixing a lilac wreath around the rim of her third hat. Hermione's Hogwarts: A History lies forgotten on the edge of the tea table.
"I still think we should try and get to Hogwarts," I mutter.
Snape glances at me and looks ready to say something cross, but instead he replies softy: "We can't, Potter."
"You spent years there and so did I: and nothing happened to me. Would it be so bad now?"
"We had magic. Wizards fall twenty feet from their broomsticks and walk away with a mere broken wrist, they can regenerate fractured bones and scorched skin tissues much faster than Muggles, they can survive the temporal slice of a botched Apparation without so much as a scar. We do not have a natural resistance to curses and enchantments any more and, what's worse, we cannot reverse any harm caused by magical objects or by the perimeter wards. We have nothing to protect us. It's not our world any longer if we can't keep ourselves safe in it."
I think of Snape's Apparation scar. Would that scar be as bad if there was still some magic left in him by the time he splinched? Would it be there at all? But what if: "We know there're spells and wards and stuff. We can try and avoid them. It shouldn't be that hard!"
"Consider the worst. Are you willing to take the unnecessary risk of someone getting hurt?"
No, but . . . "I don't want to give up on Hogwarts." It's Hogwarts! It's been a second home to every one of us for years.
"You aren't giving up. Some day people will return there, when it's safe for them to do so. But it won't be now and it won't be us."
I should probably accept that Snape is right. We don't need to get to Hogwarts. Not really. It might be easier – safer – to stay away. To gather whatever books we can find in the Muggle world instead of trying to break through the wards. What would we find there anyway? Just an old, empty castle full of magical knickknacks and old texts. An unnecessary risk.
If I was still alive, I'd go and take that risk. No matter what, I'd try to find Hogwarts again. But it's not my decision to make, not anymore.
When Hermione comes back, she looks like she just got her tests results back and they're all 'O's while she was expecting 'T's instead. "What is it?"
"Nothing, really. It's just . . . my cousin's little daughter. She fell down and hurt herself yesterday but she's fine. Mum was delighted."
"Oh. That's great!"
"I can't quite believe it," Hermione frowns. "She's just fine!"
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"No. Well, yes, of course it is, but. You don't understand. She couldn't've been better so soon! Skull fractures and broken ribs don't just mend themselves overnight. It was like Skele-Gro. The doctor thinks there was some mistake with the X-rays."
"How old is she?" Snape barks, pinning Hermione beneath an avid stare.
"Six. We just celebrated her birthday a couple of months ago. Born in . . ."
"The spring of 1999," he nods.
"Are you saying . . ."
". . . only that you should keep an eye on that child, Miss Granger."
"She was born about a year after everything happened," Hermione wrinkles her forehead, considering something. "But I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary. At all. She's just a normal kid. And my family never even heard of magic before me!"
"It's nothing conclusive, but magical ability is a genetic trait, for Muggleborns and Purebloods alike. And magical children always have enhanced resistance to injury and disease. I wouldn't get my hopes up just yet, but it's too obvious a sign to ignore."
Oh, sod it. Why don't they just say it and be done with it? I mean, it's obvious what it looks like, that . . .
"She's a witch? Is that what you think?"
"It's too early to think anything. Is she a blood relative?"
"Yes."
"Then it can't be a mere coincidence."
"Of course! Why didn't I think of it earlier?" Hermione collapses on the couch with a groan and tosses her glasses on the table. "The Muggleborns! How are we ever going to track down all of them without the Hogwarts roster?"
It all comes down to Hogwarts in the end. I wish they could see that!
"We needn't track them at all. Leave them out of it. They'd be much better off unaware of their magical skills."
"What!" How can he say that?
"Surely you don't think otherwise?" Snape hisses.
He's wrong! Hermione must see that. I look at her. She shakes her head sadly. "I never thought I'd even consider Salazar Slytherin's methods: teaching the Purebloods and leaving the Muggleborns behind is . . ."
"We have to do what we must. As more people learn the truth, the ability to cast spells won't be a gift; it will be a burden of many obligations. Take your relative, for example. There isn't any bright future waiting for her in the Wizarding world, and you may spare her from hardship."
"How? By keeping her unaware?"
"Yes. She is fortunate to have such a choice! Make sure you make the right one; you'll be choosing the rest of her life for her."
Hermione is quiet for the longest time after that. I wish I could say something to convince her that Snape is wrong, but the truth is, I almost believe that he is right.
'What have you two been up to over here?' I mean to ask, but words don't come out. Instead I just stare at Snape and Hermione, who've found their way through the narrow paths between her book stacks over to the table.
"So," Hermione sighs.
"How did he seem to you?"
I should probably pull my head back through the wall and let them be, but Snape asked about me just now, and I know I shouldn't listen but I can't help it.
Hermione shrugs nervously. "Slightly nuts, very stubborn, hair sticking out every direction: he's just the same Harry as I remember. Back then, he'd probably think that Hogwarts could've been reopened too."
"I've been telling him it's impossible. But when he gets something in his head . . ."
"Yeah, that's Harry for you. Always attempting the impossible."
Never thought I'd see Snape and Hermione agreeing with each other! Or discussing Hogwarts: A History. It's bloody disturbing! But not as disturbing as them talking about my well-being.
"Ah. And here I thought all Gryffindors possessed that unfortunate trait." I can't see Snape's face, but from that drawl in his voice I can picture the sarcastic smirk that he'll be wearing right about now. Oi, watch out, mate, that's Hermione you're provoking.
"Be careful, Professor, I might think you have a sense of humour."
"Be careful yourself, Miss Granger, I might think you have the intellect to understand my jokes."
"I'll take that as a compliment," she smiles.
"As you wish. What are you planning to do?" Snape's voice turns grave and so does Hermione's expression.
"I'll probably start talking to everyone I know from back then. Find somewhere to meet, to leave messages. Perhaps The Leaky Cauldron would work, everyone knows where it is."
"You know better than me that the Cauldron is gone. It's as invisible to us as it is to any Muggle on that street."
"Yes." Hermione grins. "From the front. You didn't try the back door when you went, did you?"
"Is Tom still there?" Snape gasps; he sounds openly surprised for once.
"Just try it. And take Harry there too. He'd be glad to see someone else he knows."
"I'll see what I can arrange."
"Professor?"
"Yes."
"Remember my first year at the Quidditch match? You were casting the counter hex and your cloak caught on fire."
"Quite well. Incendio was it? Isn't it a few years too late for this dreadful confession?"
"I'll do it again the Muggle way if I have to," Hermione's voice turns steely. "And it'll be for the right reasons next time. So you better take good care of Harry. Or else I'll . . ." All of a sudden, she looks much older than I remember, much older than me. Next to Snape, she doesn't look like his student at all, just someone who grew up long ago talking to an equal. Well, I don't need her to keep protecting me like a child!
It's as if he can hear me; he replies coolly, "You should know by now that he is perfectly able to take care of himself."
Hermione eyes him. "I see. Still, you'll make sure that he's all right, won't you?"
If Hermione's voice was steel before, now Snape's is as level as bedrock: "There's never been a time that I haven't."
Snape leaves Reading that evening. I leave with him, just like I told Hermione. It's been great to see everyone again, but somehow I don't feel like sticking my head through the train window this time around.
Snape keeps giving me mocking non-glares. Suspicious git! A full round of those by the time we get to London, and I can't bloody stand it anymore. "What? I'm fine!"
He hmphs.
"I am!"
He doesn't answer, just narrows his eyes and shoots me another sceptical look.
So he expects me to talk? Well then, I'll talk. But I'm definitely not going to whine about my troubles like he thinks I will. I don't have any! "It's perfect! They looked happy. Hermione has her law books and her studies, and Neville is doing well taking care of everyone, and Gran and Hermione are even growing this fancy orchid for him for his birthday in July." It's my birthday in July too, only I don't have a birthday any more, so I shouldn't even complain.
Snape stares at me. It's rather uncomfortable really, the way he's looking as if he's trying to puzzle me out, as if he's shocked to hear a ghost speaking at all.
"And I'm just here, with nothing to do, not ever again. Potter the Ghost, like I'm some sort of exotic pet: Potter the Pygmy Puff! See, I'd hoped that if I ignored it, tried not to worry, forgot about it, acted normal – then maybe I could pretend that I'm still alive, but I'm bloody not and I never will be again! I won't have a chance to live anymore, like they can. Cause they grew older and I never did."
"Potter. Stop there," Snape barks.
He doesn't have to yell. I'm not. "What is it?" I ask him flatly. "Afraid to admit I'm right? Or are you just going to chew me out for 'acting childish'?" I wouldn't care if he did, not now. It wouldn't make me any more miserable. "'Cause I'd say I'm stuck that way, wouldn't you?" I twist my mouth into a smile, but it doesn't feel like one. It's too bitter, like one of Snape's.
He isn't happy to see me act like him, it looks like. "Stop it. You're wrong."
"Don't lie now. How's it wrong? My friends have their own place to live and work. They'll have birthdays every year. They're already older than me and they'll just grow older from now on." That's the thing, isn't it? "I won't ever get to do any of that."
"Why do you think that you won't?" Snape sneers.
"Cause I won't! It's the truth." I won't ever get a chance to stand across from Snape, look him in the eye and talk to him like Hermione did today, as an adult talking to another adult. He won't ever see me as an equal: a grown up. How can he? I died before I turned eighteen and he went to school with my father. "Even when they're a hundred, I'll still be a boy they went to school with."
"You'll never be just a boy, you daft fool," he says softly. "You haven't been a boy for a long time."
But I am. I knew the truth for awhile. Snape must've known it too. So why does he look so surprised to hear it now? Why is he so quick to deny it? "Right! Let me tell you something about ghosts. They don't grow up!"
"Grow up? Just because you were barely of age by the time you killed the Dark Lord doesn't mean that you'll remain that way for the rest of your existence."
"Yeah. And I suppose I won't be seventeen for the next hundred years either!"
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," he hisses. "There's no reason why you shouldn't change if you want to. No one is forcing you to stay the same."
"Course not! In fact, perhaps I should just grow myself a beard and pretend I'm a hundred, like Dumbledore. That'll solve everything!"
"Listen to me," he says. And his gaze pins me down and holds me in place and reminds me that there was a time when I was his student and he was the Professor and behind every softly spoken, bitter word was a message, a lecture, a lesson he expected us to understand and learn and use without a single mistake every time. When he spoke like that, Snape forced everyone to listen even if we didn't want to hear what he had to say. "You've gone places, experienced things, just like the rest of us since then. You've learned, you've changed, and that means you have grown older."
Older? How can he say that? "Funny. I haven't noticed growing at all."
Snape glares down his nose at me, as he always does. I'm never quite sure of what he sees when he glares like that: a student who still didn't do his homework properly or maybe something else besides that, some other reason to be disappointed. "You might not get any taller, or learn to stay out of trouble, but you are a grown man," he says at last, and maybe it isn't disappointment in his eyes after all. "You've got twenty-five years worth of memories and experiences. That's what maturing is. Frankly, I'm relieved to see that after spending all this time under the sun you're not a complete failure."
Funny how much of a difference a few words can make. How much better they can make someone feel. "I guess I was worried – afraid – that people'd see me as nothing but a boy forever."
"I don't know where you come up with this nonsense," Snape declares, "but the young man who found his way to my flat and recreated Hogwarts out of nothing but dreams – oh and by the way single-handedly eliminated the most powerful Dark wizard of our generation – is certainly not a boy."
"D'you mean that?" I have to make sure!
"Yes." He turns his head and the corners of his mouth quirk into not-quite-a-smile. "It wasn't a pleasant task to deal with your adolescence, but I am glad that you've grown up, at last."
"Oh." Of all things I didn't expect him to say this; of all people I didn't expect him to say it.
"I see you're back to your normal monosyllabic self," he smirks. "It's a start."
"Why'd you call me a circus freak? That was bloody annoying," I ask Snape as we turn onto the familiar street. Just a few more blocks and we'll be home.
He murmurs something I can't understand and: "It needed to be done."
"Right! But then you were even worse when you and Hermione started completing each other's sentences."
"Maybe that's because, unlike you, Miss Granger possesses the mental acuity to follow a simple conversation."
I probably should get mad at him for insulting me, but then I'd have to get mad nearly every time he speaks. "Hermione invited me to stay with them, you know."
"Ah," Snape nods, his expression unreadable. "I guessed as much."
"I told her no."
There's a flicker of something in his eyes. Blink and it's gone. "Whyever for?" he scowls.
Silly question. "Cause I'm already staying with you."
"You don't have to."
"Course not. I want to."
"You could've stayed in Reading!"
"Right. Say what you want, but if I just stayed without warning and you had to come back to London on your own you'd be fuming by now." I am right, admit it!
He sneers. "I would not."
Liar. "I know you would. You'd care if I left."
"Don't be so sure."
"Actually I am."
He narrows his eyes, frowns.
"I know it! It's warmer in your flat."
"What does that have to do with anything, Mis-ter Potter?"
It's like Potions class all over again: one mistake and he'll take points or give detention. But this time he won't, because I know the right answer. "It's what that warmth is. I figured it out today. It means you care."
"Ah, worked it out at last, have you?" he questions with a mocking glance. "Very well, then, if you're so clever, you can visit your friends on your own next time."
Stubborn git! "Maybe I will!"
"Arrogant pest! Be sure and borrow a copy of Manners: A History when you go!"
"Ha. Ha. Very funny." I wave enough fingers in the air in front of Snape to show him what I think.
He gives me a stern look but there's an amused smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth. "Go away. And don't return until you learn something from it!"
And then he shuts his front door in my face.
"Oi!" He's complaining about my manners? "That was rude! Not to mention bloody useless."
"Pity that," I hear him grumble through the door.
What's the greasy bastard trying to prove? The door won't stop me for a second. I know it, and he does too. Like Hermione said, I like him now. But that doesn't matter really. What really matters is: I think – I know – that he likes me back. It doesn't matter what he says.
I know it for sure because it feels warm, even through the door. Warm like holding a hand over a candle flame, and it only grows hotter if I sit still and wait for the energy to flow. I ease my way inside through the thin layer of wood that feels like water seeping into my skin and bones, and the warmth is still there. If I stay still long enough and close my eyes and try to take in all of the borrowed energy that I can, it's so strong that I can almost pretend I'm alive. That I have blood rushing through my veins and air in my lungs and a body, pulsing all over to the beat of a living heart.
But then I can never completely forget that the heartbeat in my ears isn't mine. It's Snape's.
Notes:
1.
Pepper Lane is an actual street near Reading University in Reading, Berkshire.
2.
The snippet of Oscar Wilde is from his Ballad of Reading Gaol.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every wandering cloud that trailed
Its ravelled fleeces by.
He did not wring his hands, as do
Those witless men who dare
To try to rear the changeling Hope
In the cave of black Despair:
He only looked upon the sun,
And drank the morning air.
He did not wring his hands nor weep,
Nor did he peek or pine,
But he drank the air as though it held
Some healthful anodyne;
With open mouth he drank the sun
As though it had been wine!
The events described in the ballad take place in Reading, of course.
3.
Lilac. Syringa vulgaris
Plant or scatter Lilac to drive away evil. Place the blooms in a haunted house to help encourage the spirits to move to the next plane of existence.
4.
Sang is French for 'blood'. While Bloody Baron is an actual character from Harry Potter books, his life as Baron De Sang is a figment of the author's imagination, so don't take his research or his creations too seriously now.