Happy Halloween, margaritaabate
Trick or Treat!
LiveJournal username: eilonwy1
Title: If The Spirit Is Willing
Prompt: Spirits
Rating: R
Word Count: 3687
Author’s Note: Thanks and hugs to my beta, the wonderful
bunney!
If The Spirit Is Willing
It was meant to be a game, nothing more. A silly parlour game to liven up the sixth-year Gryffindors’ Hallowe’en party, which was well on its way to becoming a colossal flop.
It hadn’t helped that the pumpkin juice was long gone and the illicit bottles of Ogden’s Old were now empty as well.
Harry, Ron, Seamus and Dean had concluded a fairly lacklustre game of Exploding Snap a half hour earlier. Now they sat, variously draped over armchairs and the old sofa facing the hearth, overtaken by the malaise of creeping boredom and too much alcohol. Neville had dozed off in a corner some time before, the firewhisky having got the better of him. Lavender and Parvati had already given up the ghost, retreating to their dormitory room upstairs.
“Oi! Wake up, you lot!”
Heads swivelled in the direction of the voice. Ginny stood just inside the entrance to the common room, brandishing a large, oddly shaped parcel in her raised right hand and a smaller, oblong one in her left. There was a decidedly wicked and triumphant grin on her face.
Suddenly, things were looking up.
“What’ve you got there, Gin?” Ron slurred, hauling himself into an upright position on the sofa.
Ginny strolled nonchalantly into the centre of the common room, stopping next to the large stone hearth where the fire still blazed brightly.
“Ooh, more booze?” somebody piped up hopefully.
Ginny nodded her head, grinning smugly. “Right here,” she replied, putting the sack containing an unopened bottle of firewhisky down on a nearby table. Then she hefted the larger parcel.
“This,” she said with a smirk, “is going to be the salvation of your pathetic balls-up of a party.”
She tugged at the string binding the larger parcel in its plain, brown-paper wrapping and before long, the paper fell away, revealing an octagonal object made of highly embossed wood. In the centre, there was a pentacle superimposed over a rendering of a tree, its branches and roots snaking out like tentacles. In an arc above the pentacle were numbers from one to nine and below it, the word “GOODBYE.” Surrounding all of this was a twisting vine embossed in gold, and then the letters of the alphabet circling the outer perimeter. At the top edge was the word “YES,” and opposite it on the bottom, the word “NO.” The entire surface was covered by a clear, glass top, upon which was a moveable disc decorated with a second pentacle.
“What the hell…?” Seamus squinted at the object, befuddled.
“Oh come on, Seamus, you must know what that is, surely. Even Muggles use them.”
The voice came from a corner of the room, in which there was a high-backed wing chair half-turned to face the tall, mullioned windows. Hermione had poked her head around the side of the chair back and was now regarding Seamus with equal parts of surprise and disbelief.
Seamus shook his head doggedly and let out a small belch.
Hermione giggled. “Right. Well, it’s a spirit board, see? Sometimes known as a Ouija board. They’re a load of bollocks, really, but this one’s beautiful. Where’d you get it, anyway?”
“And the Ogden’s,” Dean chimed in appreciatively.
“I have my ways,” the younger girl informed them blithely. “Right then, who wants to play?”
There was a pause, during which it seemed that everybody was evaluating the benefits of rousing themselves and moving their arses from wherever they were now comfortably sprawled. Gradually, everyone straggled over to the table on which Ginny had placed the spirit board. Lavender and Parvati had been enticed from their room by the promise of more drink and something at least marginally more entertaining than varnishing their toenails. Spirits of the liquid variety were the real draw here; if a ghost or two materialised as well, it would merely be the icing on the cake.
“Quit arsing about and pass the bottle!”
“What’re you playing at, Weasley? Didn’t your mother teach you to share?”
“Oi! Leave off, Finnigan! Didn’t your mum teach you to say please, you twat?”
“Okay, okay, who’s going first?” Hermione interrupted the good-natured, drunken banter, grabbing the newly opened Ogden’s out of Ron’s hand and taking a healthy swig straight from the bottle.
Her surprised housemates gave her a look of admiration. The girl had stones. They had to give her that.
“You are.” Harry grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Show us how it’s done, Hermione.”
Shooting her friend a dark look, Hermione couldn’t help grinning back. A challenge was a challenge. “All right, then, I will.”
Placing her fingertips on the moveable disk, or “planchette,” she closed her eyes and then opened them a crack to peer around the table at the others.
“You lot are supposed to close your eyes too!” she exclaimed. “Oh, and I need a partner.” She glanced around quickly, her gaze resting on the one who had volunteered her. “Harry?”
Nodding, Harry lightly placed the tips of his own fingers on the edge of the planchette nearest to him and closed his eyes.
Dutifully, everyone else followed suit, albeit accompanied by muffled sniggering and whispers.
“Shut it, you plonkers! She can’t concentrate!”
“Ask it a question, Hermione!”
“Go on, then, ask it something!”
“Yeah, anything!”
“Mmm…” Hermione thought for a moment. “Okay, then, here goes… Spirit, are you there?”
Nothing.
Low-level tittering broke out, followed by shushing.
“Reckon nobody’s home,” Ron snorted. “That the best you can do, Hermione?”
“You’re supposed to ask it that, stupid. Don’t you know anything? It’s proper spirit etiquette.” Ginny looked at her brother askance and shook her head, exasperated. “Go on, Hermione,” she urged. “Ask it again.”
Hermione nodded and squeezed her eyes shut once again. “Spirit, are you there?”
This time, the planchette made a discernible little hop from beneath their fingers, gliding to rest above the word “YES.”
“Yeah, right!” Dean scoffed. “That was you lot doing that!”
“No. It wasn’t,” Hermione breathed, shaking her head slowly. She had grown noticeably paler. “Wizard’s honour.”
Harry nodded. He was looking a bit shaken as well. “Ask who it is,” he suggested, frowning. This so-called “parlour game,” which nobody had taken at all seriously- even Professor Trelawney had been known to pooh-pooh spirit boards, calling them highly unreliable- was turning out to be rather more interesting than he’d expected.
“Spirit,” Hermione said softly, “who are you? Can you tell us your name?”
The planchette slid with astonishing speed straight down the glass surface of the board.
NO.
No?? Hermione looked up from the board at her housemates, nonplussed.
“Try something else, Hermione,” Lavender urged. “You know, something easier.”
“Like ‘what did you die of?’” Seamus joked. “Is your corpse rotting somewhere at Hogwarts?”
“Yeah, maybe Snape’s got him buried in the dungeons,” Neville muttered darkly.
“Oh come on, Nev.” Parvati laughed and then let out a delicate hiccough. “You don’t really believe that!”
“Don’t I?” Neville flushed slightly, turning his attention to the contents of his shot glass.
Hermione narrowed her gaze. There was a spirit present in the room and she would find out who it was and what it wanted of her. Concentrate.
“All right, if you won’t tell us your name, then… how old are you?”
The planchette moved swiftly towards the arc of numbers, hovering first above the 1 and then stopping above the 6.
“Sixteen,” Harry murmured. “Must have been a student.”
“No shit,” Ron chortled. “Hey, I bet Neville was right after all! I wouldn’t put it past Snape.”
“Yeah, but apart from Moaning Myrtle, who do we know that died here whilst a student?” Harry frowned again.
Good question. Everybody glanced at each other, genuinely at a loss. Then they all looked at Hermione. If anybody would know the answer to that one, it would be she.
“Sorry, no clue.” She gave an apologetic shrug and then began again. “Spirit, please, can you tell us… why have you come?”
For a full sixty seconds, there was dead silence in the common room, the only sound the pop and hiss of the fire as small bits of wood crackled and flamed into white ash. The small group gathered at the table seemed to be holding their collective breath.
And then the planchette began to move. It seemed to shudder at first, as if receiving a sudden infusion of energy, and then it nearly shot out from under Hermione’s and Harry’s fingertips, hurtling from one letter to another in rapid succession. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the moving disc, and with one voice, they began to chant the letters being spelled out.
“N-E-E-D-T-O…”
“Quick, somebody write it down!”
There was an abrupt scramble for parchment and quill, and then Parvati sat down again, flushed and excited and ready to write.
“Need to… got that? Okay!” Lavender exclaimed breathlessly, peering over Parvati’s shoulder as she scribbled the message.
“Need to what?” Neville asked plaintively.
A chorus of groans greeted his question as everyone eagerly waited for the rest of the message. They didn’t have to wait very long. A moment later, the planchette practically leapt from beneath Hermione’s and Harry’s fingers.
“F-I-N-D-R-E-S-T.”
“Need to find rest! Right, okay. That makes sense, yeah?” Ron looked at Hermione, as if waiting for her judgement on the matter.
She nodded slowly. “Yes, it does, but… somehow, I have the feeling there’s more.”
And then, just as the words were leaving her lips, the planchette sprang into action once again.
“B-U-R-Y-M-Y-B-O-N-E-S.”
Hermione sat back, stunned. “ ‘Need to find rest. Bury my bones.’ Oh my gosh, that’s so sad! Do you suppose this spirit wants me to actually do this for him? Or her? We don’t even know if it’s male or female, do we?”
Apparently, the spirit was quite eager to provide the answer to that question. Immediately, the planchette took off, tearing around the board and scarcely stopping between letters, dragging Hermione’s and Harry’s fingers along with it.
“M-A-L-E.”
Ginny giggled. “Well, at least now you know this particular ghost is a bloke!”
“But…” Hermione faltered, looking around the table at her friends. “What am I supposed to do, exactly? I’ve no idea where his bones are! And… and… how do we know it’s me he wants to do this, anyway? It could be you, Gin. Or any of us, really. Right?”
“Doubtful,” Ginny replied, shaking her head. “You’re the one asking the questions.”
As if to confirm Ginny’s statement, the planchette shivered and then began to move about the board in a most determined fashion. As before, the friends called the chosen letters out loud as the disc paused at each one.
“H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E.”
The room fell completely silent.
“Holy shit, Hermione, you’re white as a sheet! Are you okay?” Harry leaned forward, pressing a hand to her arm.
It was true. Hermione’s brown eyes were huge in a face that seemed suddenly drained of all colour.
“It’s talking to me. The spirit. It knows my name,” she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry as dust.
It seemed that this fact had just now sunk in all around the table. A hushed silence remained, and for a moment or two, nobody seemed to be breathing at all.
“Are you gonna do it?” Ron studied Hermione carefully. “What the spirit asked?”
“Yeah, will you?” The question was echoed several times over.
Hermione frowned. “I suppose the least I can do is try…” she murmured hesitantly.
“Yeah, definitely!”
“Go for it!”
“You’ve gone this far, might as well do!”
“Okay.” Slowly, Hermione positioned her fingertips on the planchette once again and looked over at Harry, who nodded grimly and did the same.
“Spirit, I want to help you, but you need to tell me… Where are your bones?”
Several seconds passed, during which everyone held his or her breath, and then a distinct energy began thrumming through the planchette, causing it to vibrate and nearly jump off the spirit board. It was all Hermione and Harry could do to keep their fingertips steady on the edges and hold it to the glass surface.
“D-I-V-I-N-A-T-I-O-N.”
There was a collective intake of breath from around the table. But before anyone could utter a word, the planchette was off and moving again.
“M-A-N-T-E-L-P-I-E-C-E.”
And then, one final word before the planchette came to a shuddering halt.
“B-O-X.”
It seemed that everything had been said. Hermione had her answer. It only remained for the session to be concluded.
“Goodbye, spirit,” she murmured, and after a few seconds, the planchette responded in kind, coming to rest on the word “GOODBYE.”
The tension around the table fairly crackled now. Would she go through with it?
Just then, the clock on the mantel began to chime, twelve beats to mark the midnight hour. Samhain was upon them now, the revelry of Hallowe’en making way for a more solemn remembrance of the dead. All of a sudden, it seemed the most natural and appropriate thing, this task of finding the bones of a long-forgotten student and giving them their proper rest.
While the others were still processing what had just taken place, Hermione slowly rose from her seat at the table. “Well…” she said quietly, giving her housemates a tiny, tremulous smile. “No time like the present, right? It really ought to be now, anyway. Seeing as it’s Samhain and all.” There was a tiny but unmistakable quaver in her voice, and she swallowed hard.
“I’ll go with you!” Harry exclaimed, and suddenly, all of them were on their feet, chiming in with their own offers of help.
“Thanks, everyone, but no.” Hermione shook her head ruefully, but it was clear that she would brook no argument. “I’m the one the spirit asked for. I’m afraid it’s got to be me. Alone.”
Walking resolutely to the portrait hole, she turned and glanced back at her friends and the cheery common room. Grinning nervously, she flashed them a quick thumbs-up and disappeared.
The rest of the group shared measured looks. The bleak and chilly North Tower did not hold much appeal after midnight, especially on Hallowe’en. The girl definitely had stones.
*
Two quite generous shots of firewhisky- not to mention a couple of healthy slugs straight from the bottle- did not make for the steadiest of journeys when attempting to navigate a seemingly endless spiral staircase. Particularly, Hermione noted with chagrin, when said staircase decided it needed a bit of a stretch and began swaying.
Gripping the wrought-iron rail for dear life, she put one foot in front of the other with great deliberation and began making her way up towards the ladder and trap door that awaited her at the top.
Tall, arched windows had been cut from the stone, and now the moon cast a swath of milky light onto the tower’s walls. Gossamer cobwebs fluttered in the corners and hung from the window alcoves in silken curtains. As Hermione moved along the steps, worn down with extreme age, her shadow loomed tall and thin against the ancient, rough-hewn stones.
Don’t look down. Come to think of it, don’t look up either, she told herself, feeling a wave of something akin to seasickness wash over her. How in Merlin’s name she would manage that ladder was something she didn’t even want to think about just now.
She had just finished the first loop of the spiral when she felt a light touch on her right shoulder. Something or someone was behind her, she could feel it; the fine hairs on the back of her neck were standing up and goose bumps dotted the flesh of both arms.
She froze in place.
“Who… who is it?” Her voice sounded very high and thin as it echoed in the column-like space of the tower.
“Sssh.”
The voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Don’t turn around.”
Hermione stood quite still and waited, scarcely able to breathe. A pair of hands rested lightly on her shoulders now.
“Drop it,” the voice commanded, eerily anticipating her intent just as her fingers had begun to tighten on the wand deep in the pocket of her robes. Her pulse racing, she obeyed, letting the wand go.
By now, the fingertips had moved to her neck, commencing feather-light caresses of the smooth skin there. She could feel warm breath gently fanning her skin and causing tendrils of her hair to flutter slightly. Despite herself, she began to tremble, her heart lodging itself in her throat.
The warm breath gave way to a press of even warmer lips, soft and pliant as they left light butterfly kisses where the fingers had been. Those fingers had just released her hair from its messy bun and were now burying themselves in her curls, moving in lazy, deeply relaxing circles over her scalp.
Hermione shut her eyes, swallowing hard and sucking in a deep, steadying breath. Her right hand fell to her side, and almost immediately, she felt fingers lacing themselves through hers. The kisses and touches felt lovely, and instinctively, she leaned her head back just enough that more of her neck was exposed.
There was a soft chuckle.
“Like that, do you?”
Nimble hands turned her to face their owner. Backlit by the dim, flickering candlelight, the tall figure was difficult to see clearly. A hood was pulled up over his head, his face still obscured. Swiftly, he grasped her by the back of the neck and pulled her close, taking her mouth in a hard, urgent kiss.
Breaking apart finally, both of them out of breath, he pushed back the hood and smiled. White-blond hair gleamed in the guttering candlelight.
“You came.”
‘Yes,” she replied softly. Then she grinned. “Gods, what an elaborate scheme to get me here, though! You’re lucky I came at all. I might not have done. I was really freaked out for a while there!”
“Were you?” Draco smirked, idly twirling one of her curls around his index finger. “Told you I’d come up with something creative.”
Laughing, she twined her arms around his neck. “That’s an understatement! It was brilliant! I expect you Charmed the board to make it say those things. But however did you manage getting Ginny to bring the spirit board to the party?”
Draco’s grin was supremely cocky. “Easy,” he replied airily. “You told me yourself that you’d let on to her about us. All I had to do was work out where and when to give it to her, just watch her and wait.”
“Malfoy! You stalked her!”
He shrugged, his wicked smile clearly unrepentant. “Well… yeah. In a manner of speaking. All in a good cause, though. In the end, it was pretty simple. Told her it was a present for you, a party game. She was quite happy to take it. ‘Course,” he added slyly, “I did sweeten the deal with that vintage bottle of Ogden’s. Reckon that was what clinched it in the end.”
He leaned in for another quick kiss, winding his arms around her waist and drawing her even closer so that they were pressed up against each other quite intimately.
“Quite possibly.” Hermione couldn’t help laughing a little. “But she’s also a good friend. She was probably happy to help with something-”
“Illicit and naughty? I must say, I quite like that part of it too,” he murmured into her hair. By now, his meandering hands had found their way inside her robes, locating her breasts and cupping them, his thumbs gently teasing her nipples. “Mmm…”
“I was about to say…” Hermione’s voice trailed off into a sigh of pure pleasure at the delicious sensations his hands and mouth were eliciting. “… something that would make me happy.” Leaning in, she rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes drifting shut as his hands continued their explorations further south.
“Tell me…” His voice was a hot whisper in her ear, the tip of his tongue tickling its lobe. “How long before you caught on? When did you realise it was me?”
Raising her head, she looked at him completely straight-faced. “Hmm… when you pushed back your hood, I think. Yes, that was it.”
Draco stepped back, raising an eyebrow and regarding her with mock consternation. “And before that? Just who did you think was kissing you?”
Now an impish little smile blossomed on Hermione’s face. “A very sexy ghost. The one whose bones I came to find.”
Draco chuckled, and the rich sound of it warmed her. “Oh yeah. Him. I reckon the poor sod’s been wanting a shag for ages. Dying for it. ‘Fraid you’ll have to choose, though. What’ll it be, Granger? His bones… or mine?”
“Well,” she teased, “I do feel rather sorry for him. Dead at sixteen and all. He’d be really motivated. Reckon you can do better?”
“I reckon, sweetness,” he replied, his tone low and silken, “you’ll just have to find that out for yourself. Are you game?”
*
The Fat Lady apparently had scruples, so the sixth-year Gryffindors discovered when they tried without success to worm information out of her regarding Hermione’s return. She still hadn’t come back by the time they’d all finally dragged themselves off to bed at three that morning, and none of them had the slightest idea when she’d slipped silently into her room at last.
As they straggled down to the Great Hall for breakfast, and later, at the table, she stubbornly refused to divulge anything of what had happened. The most anyone got out of her was an enigmatic smile and the assurance that she’d been “successful,” although the more discerning of the bunch observed a curious exchange of furtive, lingering glances between Hermione and Malfoy as well.
And the spirit board? Pressed into service several more times over the coming weeks, it was retired for safekeeping into Hermione’s trunk by the time the winter holidays arrived, no longer needed. Because by then, of course, the entire school knew about Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. And nobody needed tea leaves, a crystal ball, a spirit board, or a bunch of old bones to predict their future.
FIN
A/N: Ogden’s Old illustration by Micau.