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Chapter Fifteen—Dead Good Advice

You are looking in the wrong direction. I am not always solid.

Harry stares at the scroll that Hedwig delivered to him early that morning. He kept it to himself this time, because of the effect the last one had on Sirius and his friends. And besides, he wants to ponder what this means.

Not solid…?

Harry can think of one thing that might mean, but it's so strange that he still wants to think about it some more, again, before showing anyone the scroll.

"Harry? Are you all right? You've acted oddly since that letter came."

Harry sighs and tucks it away, looking up at Hermione. She's actually abandoned the incantations that she was muttering about to lean forwards and stare at him in concern. Right now, for a wonder, they're the only ones at the "Lord Slytherin and his followers" table in the library.

Harry sighs and casts a small Privacy Charm that Theo taught him. Hermione blinks, and Harry thinks she probably doesn't know the spell and wants to ask about it, but luckily, she manages to refocus when Harry shakes his head. "We told you about the letter from Regulus Black."

"Yes."

"And this is another one. He says that he's not solid."

"What does that mean?"

Harry spreads his hands. "I suppose it has something to do with why owls can't find him, and the way that he managed to make the Black family tapestry and Kreacher think he died. But it doesn't give us much of a lead on finding him. Or, more to the point, whether we can trust his information or not."

Hermione nods, her face a bit blank. "Do you think—you should tell Sirius?"

"It devastated him last time, especially when Hedwig and then other owls couldn't find Regulus. I think I'll let it wait a bit."

Hermione gives him what looks like an unhappy smile. "What?" Harry asks.

"It's just—I heard Susan talking the other day about how you have to delegate, and sometimes you have to make decisions that take lots of political consequences into consideration. Or the reactions of multiple people, not just one."

"Yeah, I reckon?"

"This just sounds like a Dumbledore-like decision to me," Hermione says softly, and turns away. "To keep the information from Sirius because he might react badly."

Harry sits frozen for a long time after that. When he leaves the library, it's to go to Sirius's quarters.

Sirius drinks more than half a bottle of Firewhisky before Harry manages to Summon it away from him, and then he scowls at Harry and gives a little hiccough, grasping after the bottle. "Give-give it back, Harry," he mumbles. "No fair."

"I think you've had enough."

"You're not my dad."

Harry knows that something is really wrong when Sirius's face screws up and he holds still for a long moment as though expecting someone to hit him. Then he curls up and begins to utter heartbreaking sobs that make Harry want to hit someone.

Probably someone who's been dead for a long time, admittedly.

"I didn't tell you about the letter so that you could drink yourself into a stupor, Sirius. I told you so that we can figure out what we ought to do."

"My little brother isn't even solid some of the time. What can we possibly do?"

"We can figure something out." Harry sits down on the couch across from Sirius in his quarters and tries to squash his own discomfort with having Sirius stare at him as if he wants Harry to tell him everything is going to be okay. "We'll try, all right? We can try."

"You know something. What do you know?"

Sometimes it's good to be transparent with the people who lean on me, and sometimes it bloody sucks. "I know, or I think I know, that Regulus might be a ghost," Harry says, as calmly as he can. "We need to find people who can speak to ghosts. Maybe talk with some of the ones at Hogwarts."

"A ghost?"

"I mean, I don't know for sure, it's just a theory—"

"Better bloody theory than the one I had." Sirius scrubs at his face with one hand for a moment, then sits up with a hectic gleam in his eye that makes Harry relax and worry all at once. "What do you think we need to do?"

"Myrtle?"

For a long second, Harry doesn't think it's going to work, even though he was careful to use her name and not call her "Moaning Myrtle" the way so many people do. But then Myrtle materializes near the ceiling of the girls' bathroom, floating in place with a slight frown. "Harry?"

"That's right—"

"Some people said you were Lord Slytherin," Myrtle tells him with a more than slight accusing tone in her voice. "That you were like the one who did this to me." She gestures at her shape without looking away from Harry.

"I would never be like Tom Riddle."

"But they said that the monster that killed me was a basilisk, and you're a Parselmouth."

"Right, but I killed the basilisk. That's the reason people go around calling me Lord Slytherin in the first place."

Myrtle pauses for a long moment. "Oh," she says finally.

Harry gives her the kindest smile he can. "I've got some questions about ghosts. We're getting letters from someone who might be a ghost. Can I ask you?"

"They can't be from a ghost! We're not solid."

"Well, he says that he's only solid some of the time. And you could always get someone to write you a letter, if you asked."

"No one wants to write a letter for dead Moaning Myrtle," Myrtle says, and her eyes well up so suddenly that Harry jumps. "They all make fun of me, just the way Olive Hornby did, and they say—they say—"

"I would write a letter for you if you wanted," Harry says quickly.

Myrtle pauses. "You would?"

Harry nods. "Do you have someone you want to write to? You died so long ago that I assumed most of your friends and family were probably dead."

A second later, he winces and thinks that he shouldn't have said that, but Myrtle only looks flattered. She ducks her head, and something like a silvery flush comes into her cheeks. "That's so nice of you," she whispers. "There is someone I would want to write to, if she's still alive."

"All right. You want me to ask if she is?"

"I have ways to find out," Myrtle says vaguely. "And now I can tell you about ghosts!"

Harry leans back and happily continues the discussion. He can see why people dislike Myrtle, but he also thinks that they wouldn't if they knew how useful she could be.

Or is that a Dumbledore-like thought?

He winces then, but hopes he hides it.

However Myrtle does it, she does find out that the person she wants him to write to is still alive, and Harry brings parchment to write down the letter. Then he heads up to the Owlery and sends it off with an eager Hedwig.

He goes to bed, prodding at the sleeping Ahalam on his pillow and wondering as he does how Olive Hornby will react to receiving a Howler after all these years.