Ghosts of the Living

Dudley's car was practical but still a bit sporty, as if he fought the inevitable push toward becoming his father. It was early yet, but Harry could see it happening, like one of Professor Trelawny's visions, only with a better chance of coming true. He wondered if, due to their expanded lifespan, wizards took longer to become their parents, then decided that unlikely. Before they'd left school – or left what had been left of it – Draco had been well on his way to becoming his father, albeit with far less charisma. Ron had never had much choice but to turn into his dad, as all the brothers before him had shunned their responsibility in that arena, with the possible exception of Bill, who had narrowly escaped by marrying a French woman of exotic descent.

It was a pretty conceit to think that any of them had a choice as to what path their lives took, when those who paid attention recognized that the students had been pawns in a greater game than any they'd thought they were playing. As satisfying as it might be to believe that their generation had done such amazing things that children hearing stories in generations to come would be astounded, it was more than a little likely that those same children would be in the process of being manipulated by people who were supposed to be looking out for their welfare, only to realize years later that they, too, had been taken for a ride.

All that brilliance in a school purporting to be safe, all those world-famous witches and wizards, that vast collection of knowledge, and the powers that be had left the fate of the world in the hands of teenagers. It would have served them right if the kids had muffed it. Of course, if they had failed, Harry would hardly have had the leisure to ruminate on the many ways in which he'd been let down. It was a privilege, really, and he knew it, but admitting that wasn't nearly as gratifying as being righteously pissed off.

As they wove their way through Little Whinging, Harry pretended to not notice every turn, every landmark, every temporary hiding place he'd found in the years before he'd learned to be enough of a bully to threaten his family with some horrible curse if they didn't back off. Only fair, as he'd learned by watching, and had been sufficiently tortured to the point where everyone knew the threats had real weight. Yet here he was, returning to the scene of multiple crimes, intent on helping Dudley, who had taken the most joy in assaulting him over the years.

"Our family dynamic is a bit perverse," Harry said.

Dudley snorted – not the figurative sort, but a genuinely pig-like sound. "Just come to that conclusion, did you?"

Harry actually laughed. "No."

"Most people chat about the weather when they want to make small talk." Dudley pulled the car onto Privet Drive.

"Most people can't change the weather if they don't like it." As if to prove a point, the sun dropped behind a cloud. Harry grinned when Dudley flinched. "Relax. I don't have my wand out."

"Good thing, too. Wouldn't want the neighbors to see a man waving his wand about. Makes a terrible first impression."

"I grew up here. It's long past time for first impressions."

Dudley shrugged. "Between the banking crisis and unemployment, there's been a lot of people forced out of their homes. The economy is doing a bang up job of upending the way things used to be in this neighborhood."

"Listen to you, talking like you understand the big picture!" Harry imitated Aunt Petunia's shrill sing-song. "Is my Dudders all grown up? Such a smart little man."

"I'm right next to you, and fully capable of knocking out your teeth," Dudley said with little menace.

"Aren't you afraid I'd attack you with magic?" Harry retorted.

"You'd still be missing some teeth."

"Good point." The entire exchange was so comfortingly familiar that Harry was startled to find the car had stopped. He opened his door and braced himself to face down the specters of his childhood.

As it turned out, he felt absolutely nothing when he walked through the door. It did not feel like the house in which he'd grown up. A change in paint and carpet did not alter the familiar layout, and seeing it completely void of furniture could not erase the things that had occurred there. He simply had no emotional reaction at all. That lack might have been disconcerting, considering that he had become hyper-emotional at the best of times (and the best of times had never taken place in this house), but he couldn't muster up enough interest to determine if he was concerted, much less dis.

Something had changed about the place, but what?

"All sorts of stuff," Dudley said.

"I really need to stop doing that," Harry muttered.

"What, talking as if there was no one around? You might want to consider rebuilding some sort of social life. It will keep you from turning into a loon. Well, more of a loon, anyway."

"Thank you, mister sensitivity. Now, shut it for a minute. I need to think."

Rather than taking offense, Dudley took himself to the kitchen.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he was alone. Even a few days with constant company had worn on his nerves. There was simply too much stimuli, a thousand small noises that made him twitch or wake with a start. Here, there was nothing. Neither the lingering smell of fireplace ash nor creak of a board under his foot triggered a response. He went to the cupboard door and opened it, sure of some reaction to that cramped space. His knight sat on the shelf above where his makeshift bed used to be. He could muster no sorrow for the sad little boy who had lived there.

"There is something seriously wrong here." He could not even manage a soupcon of dread at the thought that someone had been in the house before them and laid down a spell of some sort. At the very least, he ought to have been nervous.

"Magic, then." It was the logical conclusion, and hence the logical solution. And one he'd been avoiding whenever possible for some years now.

Running through every possible counter spell did no good, which was not surprising, since he had no idea what he was trying to counter. The reveal spells he knew were no help, either.

In the kitchen, Dudley fumbled about, but he might as well have been across town for all Harry cared about the usually nerve-grinding racket. The effects of the unknown spell were increasing. Harry remained absolutely, perfectly calm.

He paced, not because he felt at all nervous, but because it seemed the thing to do. His wand rested loosely in his hand, as if he'd always felt comfortable with it there. And why not? He'd spent years learning how to use the thing, and it seemed a waste to refuse to use it regularly. Why had he? He could not remember.

His mobile rang. He stuffed his wand in one pocket and retrieved the phone from another. Hermione's picture waved at him – an app of his own making. He would likely make a fortune if he could figure out how to make it work for Muggles, and if he felt the need to make a fortune. They would think it technology instead of magic, and he wasn't entirely sure they would be wrong.

"Hey," he said briefly, as that was all anyone expected of him these days.

"Harry!" At least Hermione had no problem being excited. "Put the knight down!" she shrieked.

He unfolded his fist to find the metal toy. He hadn't even realized he was still holding it. "Why?" he asked, completely unmoved by her distress.

"Idiot," she hissed. "For once in your life, do as I tell you and ask why later."

He did. Not a bloody thing changed, which he told her.

"I did not expect it to change, but at least you've stopped it from getting worse. What are you doing at Privet Drive?" She seemed somehow offended.

"Helping Dudley." He felt no need to elaborate.

"And did nothing strike you as odd?"

"Besides my willingness to help Dudley, or to come here, or to use magic when it makes my skin crawl most of the time?"

"Actually, yes, besides all that." She was pretending to be patient. Hermione was not a very good actress, but it was funny when she tried.

He thought very hard. "I should probably be upset about something, yeah? Or maybe sad. But I'm not. I don't even feel angry. I wonder how long it's been since I was not angry. A decade, at least."

"Yes, well, enjoy it while you can."

"It's not particularly fun, though it's not not-fun, either."

She sighed, that special sigh she had when she'd been especially clever and it had backfired in some way. "Stay put. I will be there momentarily."

The phone went dead. Harry stuffed it back into his pocket and sat quietly on the floor.

Dudley stood in the doorway. "Who was that?"

"Hermione. She's coming over."

"How did she know you were here?" Dudley asked.

Harry tilted his head. "I didn't think to ask her. You can if you want."

"Is she a lesbian, too?" That was Dudley, always asking the most important questions.

"Not that I've heard. Still not a great idea to flirt with her, though. She has no problem hexing people."

"Okay then." Dudley turned on his heel and returned to the kitchen.

Hermione appeared a few moments later, dressed in various shades of tan. It really wasn't her color, but Harry knew better than to say so. She looked around the room until she found the knight. Her eyes narrowed, as they almost always did when she focused on magic. She pointed her wand at the toy, said something unintelligible, and blew it right off the mantle.

"Hey!" Harry sputtered. "I liked that! What is wrong with you, popping up and destroying pieces of my childhood as if they mean nothing?" He grabbed the knight and tucked it in his shirt pocket.

"Oh, thank goodness you're irritated!" she said.

"I like that," he grumbled. "Did you want to kick me, for good measure?"

She rolled her eyes. "Grow up. You needed my help and I came, as I have always come. Someday, you will think to be grateful."

He stared at her a moment, taking measured, even breaths before speaking, just as he'd been taught. "You called me, so how is it you think I was asking for your help?"

"I did not say you asked. I said you needed me, and you do. Not just to remove the spell I put on that silly bit of metal, but also to tell you that it's high time you sought the other assistance you need. Unfortunately, I don't have time to discuss it right now. I was in the middle of something rather important."

"You usually are," Harry said. "But thanks for letting me know how helpless I am. For the record, what spell did you cast, and what were you doing casting spells in this house anyway?"

"Cetera Desunt. It's literal meaning is: the rest are missing." She used her lecturer tone. "I designed it myself to calm groups of people who were prone to panic – very useful on unruly crowds and half-committed military. The committed ones seem to defy magic as well as logic. I'll find a way around that someday."

"Hermione," Harry said softly. "The spell."

"I had completely forgotten that I'd tested the spell on this place once your aunt and uncle moved out. It seemed as good a location as any, and I needed to be sure it worked on Muggles as well as magical folk. I never did get anyone to come inside, so I had to test and change it in the field. Does this version have the same effect on Dudley that it does on you?"

"I couldn't tell you. Dudley is strangely tranquil these days."

She peered down the hall. "Really? How odd."

"But it worked just fine on me. Which, by the way, makes me feel like someone replaced my nerves with metal wire and frayed them for good measure."

She turned back to him. "Why would it do that? It shouldn't."

Harry's first words were ground soundlessly between his teeth. She never did understand, but he couldn't fault her for it. "I'm particularly averse to having spells thrown at me. I'm even less thrilled about triggering them without warning. Also, experimenting on me is probably not the best idea in the long run. I hold grudges."

"Honestly, Harry, you are impossible," she huffed. "I developed the spell to help you, and others like you. You should be thanking me instead of pointing out the obvious and glowering."

"Thank you?" He stood, head and shoulders above her. "You want me to thank you for messing about with my feelings and making me a drone without so much as asking how I might feel about that?"

She sighed, the put upon sigh this time. "As I said, I don't have time for this fight. If I promise to have a rousing quarrel with you about this at a later date, will that do?"

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out, as if she had cast Muffliato on him, which he knew she hadn't.

"Excellent!" She reached up and patted his cheek. "It was good to see you, Harry. You look well." Seconds later, she was gone with a little pop, leaving behind the scent of desert roses, pine tar, and superiority.

"Sometimes, I can't stand you," he said to the place where she was not.

As he wandered into the kitchen, he wondered why it was that women liked to schedule arguments instead of dealing with them straightaway.

For itchyfoot, who gives great prompt. I promise there will be kissing soon. ;)