13.

The King's Ghost House

"Come in, take a seat." Arthur stood, turning slowly towards them.

Ron and Harry, too shocked to even move, stared at him.

"What are you afraid of? You aren't in trouble. If you keep standing out there like deer in headlights then you will be caught." Arthur attempted to make a warm gesture but failed miserably.

Eventually Ron and Harry found the strength in the legs to move. They stepped forwards. Arthur waved his wand, the door shut behind them softly, and he muttered another spell so that they could not be overheard. Two chairs appeared before him. Harry pulled the cloak off and folded it, placing it on his lap. He sat next to Ron, who turned visibly very pale. His lips were parted and his eyes wide, as though he feared for his very life.

Arthur looked at them both. He was sickly. His face blanched and flushed periodically, his breath occasionally coming in sharp breaths and sometimes in rasping, drawn out sighs. He appeared to have a fever but said nothing about it.

"So, tell me, why are you two here?" Arthur asked. "I know Hermione told you about our meeting."

Harry coughed into his fist, attempting to bring up his voice. He couldn't and instead his throat swallowed a tight knot of emotion. Ron's mouth was too dry to form words. Even though Arthur appeared in no condition to harm them, they were horrified that he could see them. He probably knew why they were there, too.

"Do you need tea?" Arthur asked at length.

Finally finding his voice, Harry shook his head. "No, sir, we're just a bit shocked."

"Yes, I see."

"We're here because, well…" Harry faltered, his eyes falling limply to the floor, occasionally flicking up but unable to meet Arthur's green eyes, so close he could see the ring of black surrounding them.

Harry had come into the room fully prepared to berate Arthur and call him out on the lie, but now the man was being so nice and gentle he couldn't find the heart to do it. But, if he wanted to make sure the school was safe, and more importantly that Hermione was, he would have to set aside any hesitation.

"Are you asking about my past?" Arthur tapped his forearm. Harry could image the tattoo-like mark on his arm, deep and burning.

"Y-yes, sir," Ron piped up, his voice shrill.

"I can assure you that I have no malice to give at this time. At least, not here," Arthur explained calmly, "I did some rather ill-minded things in the past, I admit, and I won't admit that I've changed, but I have nothing against you all now. I can't meddle with any of you. Think of it like this: your destiny is a pool at the bottom of a waterfall. Each of you is a drop of water, hurtling quickly and without control. If something, say a rock, were to throw you off course you'll end up on dry land or somewhere you don't belong. I won't be that rock, and your pools have been ascertained for a very, very long time."

"So you expect us to believe that you giving Hermione those lessons was a part of her 'destiny'?"Harry retorted.

"No that was of my own choice."

"But you just said that you couldn't interfere!"

"When did I say that?"

Harry was about to respond hotly, but a snake-like smile passed over Arthur's lips. Arthur, having seniority, overrode him.

"Harry, you can't possibly understand my motives. I doubt Albus even understands them. And besides, you're too young."

"I am—"

"Don't interrupt."

"Sorry, sir."

"Is that all you wanted to ask me? You need some sleep. Those guests will be here very soon." Arthur said, leaning back on his wooden chair. The room was a cluttered mess of tables and scrolls, some covered in dust. The room seemed to fulfill no purpose except for the purpose of existing. Arthur's dark purple robe rustled around him. He kept his hands on his knees. Clumps of hair fell just short of his eyes, resting complacently on his eyebrows. A sprinkle of freckles covered his cheeks from being in the sun lately. "Or do you want to see my legs as well?"

"Why? Is there something wrong with them?" Ron blurted out before he could stop himself. His ears turned crimson and he sat back, eyebrows elevated.

"So, Granger didn't tell you about that, did she? She's better at keeping secrets than I thought."

Arthur bent down and grabbed his robes, bunching them up. The hem flew above his ankles. Ron looked suddenly very sick and turned away. Harry sat mesmerized. He'd never seen anything so hideous and cruel.

Dropping the robes, the wounds were gone and Ron turned back. Just like that, with a single motion, the very notion of his damaged limbs ceased to exist.

"Or do you want to know about your fortune, then?" Arthur continued his voice strange. It seemed as though he was both restraining himself and forcing himself to speak—like he had no choice in the matter. When he spoke his eyes gleamed with pain, the very words possibly soothing it.

"No thanks," Harry said, then added; "Sir."

Arthur leaned back, clutching his forehead. "I beg your pardon…" he muttered at last. "I'm a bit ill. I've been having trouble lately."

"It's no matter, sir." Ron said.

Harry stood, preparing to leave. He grabbed his cloak, looking towards the door bathed in warm golden lamplight. "Oh," he said at last, feeling almost hesitant at looking towards Arthur's sick state, but he moved on, thinking this may be his last chance. "Who is that ghost?"

"That ghost…? The woman you mean?"

"Yes sir."

Arthur's lips collected into a horribly painful smile. He seemed as though he could burst into tears at any moment. "I've only fallen in love with a woman two times in my life and neither ended very well, as you can imagine."

Harry and Ron, both young teenage boys, felt as though they had treaded into dangerous territory. Although neither could understand the extent of Arthur's suffering, they could see from the heaviness of his words to the sorrow in his very movements that it was nothing light.

Both boys lingered by the door, Harry's hand transparent under the cloak, as though he was lacking that appendage.

"You both are too young, as I said, so you may not understand why this is important. But you'd do better to hear it from Miss. Granger."

Harry and Ron nodded, leaving, feeling very uncomfortable.

The following morning, Harry inquired Hermione as to what Arthur meant by all that.

Hermione perked up, placing her hand in the book to save her place. She stared at Harry for a very long time, her features shifting indecisively from anger, to frustration, to a deep moving sorrow. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry."

"What is it?"

"Well, the first person he loved was that Ghost you saw, he told me about that. And the second time, well…" she looked down.

"Who was it?" Harry asked. For a moment he didn't want to know.

Hermione looked anywhere but at him. She spoke in a voice so low he could barely hear her.

"The second time was to your mother, Harry."

Harry stared at her for a long time. She didn't seem able to breathe the entire while.

"What? First Snape and now him?"

"Oh it's nothing like that!" She spoke up, shaking her head so that ringlets of brown hair bounced. "He didn't have a romantic love for her. Oh you boys understand nothing! All you think he loved her for was her looks or something. But it was friendship. If he asked me to tell you, then I guess I have to tell you in full. But it's a nice day. How about we go by the lake?" She attempted to cheer them up with a smile. They hesitantly followed her outside. They sat down in the grass. The wind was beginning to chill and become crisp. The lake rippled. Several other students walked around the grass, chatting, and enjoying the overall pleasant atmosphere of the weekend.

"Go on with your story," Harry said stiffly.

"I guess I'll start with the first ghost. She really is a ghost now, though, and she's in the castle by the way. That wasn't some sort of metaphorical saying. And I can't remember her name, mainly because he hardly dared say it. The details are murky because, again, Mr. Kirkland remained stubbornly silent the entire time."

Hermione went on to describe in fragmentary details how Arthur, after the war, had visited an impoverished teahouse in Japan only to be greeted by the most beautiful geisha he had ever seen. He fell instantly in love. She was relatively young and still lived in her okiya. As he continued to visit her and they discussed their lives, he grew to become even fonder of her. He was poor at the time so he could not afford to become her danna which is her "husband" that buys her kimono and gets, when Hermione said this she blushed and could not look at either of the boys, special attention from her. But eventually she could not remain in her poor town and agreed to come to London. She was not a witch. This Arthur described poorly, but somehow he ended up describing how she died and agreed to remain in this castle as a watch on all the young women.

"Too bad she can't sustain Moaning Myrtle."

"There's a chance, isn't there, that he was lying?" Ron asked, plucking at the grass by his legs.

"There is that chance. Maybe he made the entire story up. Maybe really that woman is a witch and he had made up this fantastical tale just to explain things better. He still thinks I'm a child and that I won't understand what the real story is." Hermione said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"What about my mum?" Harry asked in a voice unnaturally soft.

"Oh, yes. Well that I know even less of. All I know is that he met her when she was married, they had some sort of relationship, then he turned into a Death Eater, and nearly killed her several times."

Harry stood, frozen in shock.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything." Hermione muttered and grasped Harry's arm, but he was already standing and shaking her off.

His features had contorted to unadulterated rage, burning fire.

"You mean his kindness was to cover up for this? Is that why—he—how?" Harry blustered. "He's at fault for all this?"

"Harry you're overreacting. He didn't actually do it." Hermione's argument sounded weak even to her.

Harry left, fuming. Ron followed. He gave Hermione a pained look and turned back, trying to talk some sense into Harry.

After remaining in the cool air for a moment longer, Hermione decided to take her things and return to the library. Arthur would be leaving very soon. At least after that her troubles would be over. Harry will calm down and realize that maybe Hermione may not have good information, or maybe he'll be absorbed in something such as the tournament, and then things will get better.

Hermione was horribly wrong.

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