A/N: I still don't think the last one was sad, or depressing... Now this is sad.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.


62. Magic

The water in the pond was like a mirror, reflecting the trees in the park, the cloudless sky, the swings of the playground next to it, which was surrounded by a fence, preventing the small children that normally played there from falling into the shallow water. The bright sunlight that reflected in the tranquil surface of the pond caused the little girl leaning on that fence to squint.

Her long, black hair in pigtails, sloppy dark blue t-shirt and ripped jeans gave the impression of a strong willed, headstrong, stubborn seven year old. Which was exactly what she was. She had been standing there for ten minutes straight, waiting, willing the blue-with-pink-dots ball that was floating peacefully in the middle of the pond to come back to her. Her lip trembled for a moment, and she glanced quickly to the other side of the playground, where her mother was sitting on a bench, in deep conversation with her grandmother. No help there.

She looked back at the ball, and her tragic expression, especially designed to appeal to her mother, who almost never fell for it, changed into one of annoyance, her trembling lip settling into a pout. She stretched her arms and leaned over the fence.

"Come back to me," she hissed.

Somewhere inside her, she was sure that if she wanted something badly enough, she could make it happen. She furrowed her brow and glared at the ball. It moved.

Slowly, but surely, it moved towards her, making ripples in the calm water. There was no wind, there was no way the ball could just move towards her, and yet there it was, right at the edge, just out of reach of her stretched arms. She bend over a little further, now balancing dangerously on the fence, but before she could topple over the ball jumped out of the water and she grabbed it.

"Wow," she said.

Then she looked around. Had anybody seen what she had just accomplished? The playground was deserted, most children being in school, and her mother was still talking. She could see her gesturing the way she always did, waving her hands in the air to emphasize what she was saying. Her grandmother looked pensive, a slight frown on her face, but she was listening. They were talking about her.

She looked at her wet ball.

"How did I do that?"

A sudden cold breeze touched her bare arm, causing goosebumps, and she shivered. Now suspicious, she purposefully dropped the ball back into the water. It bounced a little, causing ripples to spread on the surface all the way to the other side of the pond. She stared at it.

"Now come back to me," she commanded.

Nothing happened. She glared at the ball again and stretched her arms. The ball jumped out of the water and floated in front of her, suspended in the air as if held by invisible hands. Eyes wide, she stepped back. That coldness was there again, like she was standing in front of an open refrigerator, this time accompanied by a soft chuckle.

"Ghost," she said.

She felt a little fearful, but she tried not to show it. Her mother always told her she had to be brave, although she usually meant braving the other children at her school, now thankfully hundreds of miles away.

The ball started bouncing in the air, as if somebody was throwing it from one hand to the other. She followed it with her eyes.

"Can't you just show yourself?" she asked, now annoyed.

The ball held still again and a few moments passed, as if the ghost was considering this. Then, suddenly, he shimmered into view and she stepped back with a sudden intake of breath. He was transparent, she could hardly see him in the sunlight. He was floating in front of her, his head cocked to one side, his fluorescent green eyes shining unnaturally bright. He held the ball in his right hand and made it twirl on his index finger, before bouncing it back at her.

"Thank you," she said, catching the ball.

He lowered himself to the ground and knelt before her, studying her. The cold he was emanating was intense, but she didn't back away, ignoring the shivers that ran up her spine. Instead, she looked at his vague form, trying to discern what he was. He smiled playfully at her, and she thought he must be a teenager.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Lilly," she answered, "My mom calls me Lillith, but I don't like that name."

"Why aren't you in school?"

"We're visiting my grandparents. We're moving here. I'll never have to go back to that stupid school again."

He grinned and she grinned back. She threw the ball at him and he caught it easily, threw it up into the air a couple of times and then balanced it on his head, making funny faces at her. Then he let it drop back into his hands and frowned.

"Didn't your mother tell you you shouldn't talk to strangers," he said.

"You're a ghost," she pointed out.

"Duh," he said, and she giggled when she saw him roll his eyes.

"You gave me back my ball," she continued in a reasonable tone, as if she was lecturing him, "And my mom's over there with my grandmother."

He glanced in the direction she was pointing and suddenly went very quiet. He was still on the ground, but seemed to become more solid, and she could now make out his white hair that was hanging partially in front of his face, obscuring his features. He seemed older now that she got a better look at him, grown up, and she thought he looked sad. He turned back to her.

"How old are you?"

She saw no reason not to answer. "Seven."

The ghost in front of her shook his head a little, causing the loose strands of white hair to fall away from his face. He looked strained, his mouth set into a thin line.

"Seven," he whispered, "Seven... what about your father, where is he?"

"He's dead. He died before I was born."

The ghost looked at the ground, his hair once again falling in front of his face. He didn't cast a shadow, she saw, the sun was shining right through him.

"Are you... do you mind?" he asked, "I mean, are you sad? Because he's not there?"

"No." She shook her head. "But sometimes mom is sad. She thinks I don't notice, but I do."

"Oh."

She looked at him in amazement.

"Hey mister, don't be sad. Lots of kids don't have a dad. Well, usually it's because they divorced of course. And my mom's really cool. She called my teacher stupid when she said it was my own fault the kids were teasing me."

He dropped her ball and it bounced away from them, coming to a stop against the edge of the sandpit. They both looked at it. The two women on the other side of the playground were saying their goodbyes.

"I think you'd better not mention me," the ghost said.

He seemed to become more transparent, as if he was fading away. He extended his hand and briefly touched her cheek with his glove, smiling fondly at her, and then he was gone.

"Hey," she said, looking around, "Hey, mister, you never told me your name."

"Who are you talking to, Lillith?"

Sam was walking towards her daughter, who was standing near the edge of the water. She wasn't worried though, the fence was there, and besides that her daughter was an excellent swimmer. She frowned at the wet spot on her t-shirt.

"What did you do? How did you get wet?" she asked, touching the girls shirt.

Lillith looked down to see what she meant, and then looked up again.

"My ball fell into the water," she said.

Sam glanced at the pond.

"Oh. So how did you get it out again then?"

Lillith didn't answer right away, seemingly trying to come up with a reasonable answer. Sam knew that look, it meant her daughter was trying to hide something. She also knew it was useless to try and pressure her, so she waited patiently to hear what the girl would come up with now.

"Magic," she said.