The Ghosts of Our Past, Present, and Future

by Happy Camper27

Ghosts haunt even the best of us; but for Haris, they dog his every step, whispering in his ears of lies and pain and deceit. But that's alright-he has others, who will follow him to the end of the earth. And that makes it alright. Somehow. (drabble!fic, non-chronological order, Ghost-Type-Specialist!Harry, occasional dark themes)

2. Chapter 2

Haris blinked at the small, candle-like Pokémon that sat in front of him, smiling up at him innocently with it's wide yellow eyes and brilliant purple flame flickering and twirling hypnotically.

It was a Litwick.

It giggled at him, hopping around him without a sound, it's soul and energy singing in his mind, twirling and leaping with mischief and curiosity.

He didn't question the songs he heard—he had always heard them, from everyone and everything. It wasn't until he met Val, and Grandmother's Haunter, Murk, that he had realized that their songs—Val's and Murk's—were louder in his ears, sharp and clear above the soft, vague tones of Grandmother's and Phoebe's.

He could always hear the songs, but now…

…all he could hear was the songs of the Litwick and the other Ghost types.

It was a welcome relief for him; the songs clued him in to others' emotions, but they could be very overwhelming, picking him up and sweeping him along in a torrent of ragefurygriefpainfearhappiness until all that he could do was cling onto his mind and try not to drown in the floods.

"Would you like to come with me?" he asked softly, pulling out a Pokéball and holding it out to the Litwick. It's song lifted, washing him in the sweet, lilting sounds of curioushappyacceptance before the Litwick pushed forward, letting himself be caught in the red light of the Pokéball. It shook; once, twice, thrice, and Haris released his newly caught Litwick, who smiled up at him mischievously, his flame burning hotter and brighter.

"How does the name 'Dusk' sound to you?" he asked, crouching down. Another wash of happyacceptance flowed over him, and he smiled. "Welcome to the family, Dusk," he said, standing up and holding his arms open for the small Pokémon. Dusk leapt into his arms, glowing brighter and brighter.

As they walked home, back up the steep slopes of Mount Pyre, the eleven-year-old boy wondered what Grandmother and Phoebe would say when they saw Dusk. Hadn't Grandmother said something about Litwicks, their evolutionary line, life force, and be careful?

Oh well.

He had Dusk now, and he wasn't going to let him go.