Chapter 6: The Paranormal Expert or Ghost Whispering for Dummies or Things That Go Bump in the Night

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Chapter 6: The Paranormal Expert or Ghost Whispering for Dummies or Things That Go Bump in the Night

Snape stared at the four blank white walls, contemplating his existence, or lack thereof. Hell, or the dangerous wilderness outside the Shrieking Shack, would have been an improvement over what he had experienced in the seven days since the bushy-haired harridan had banished him from her flat, severing him from the only joy in his afterlife: her books. Now he mainly engaged in navel-gazing, rehashing several life-altering moments in his past and wondering what if... he were given a second chance.

But mostly, Snape was just plain bored. Not bored to tears, for his lachrymal glands had ceased to function. Not bored to death, since... well, no explanation needed. Perhaps bored out of his skull would be the most apt description.

Boredom. Tedium. Ennui. Severus Snape considered himself somewhat of an expert in disinterest, having endured almost sixteen mind-numbing years of Dumbledore's start-of-term, team-building, motivational staff meetings.

Severus: (Thud)

To be fair, Snape had experienced that same level of boredom – the self-torturous kind that compels one to insert spiky shards of bamboo under one's fingernails – with the Dark Lord's never-ending, morale-boosting, motivational speeches.

Severus: (Belting out in his head)

"She's a killer queeeeeen,

Gunpooowder, gelatiiine,

Dynamiiite with a laser beeeam,

Guaranteed to blooow your miiind,

Anytiiime."

To wile away the endless hours of nothing, he recited in his mind the ingredients and step-by-step instructions for every potion he knew. He started with Advanced Potion-Making – including his marginalia which improved upon Borage's recipes – moved on to Moste Potente Potions and finally ended with Undetectable Poisons of the West Indies. When he ran out of potions, he sang the popular songs of his youth. The Beatles, Elton John, Pink Floyd, Queen, to name a few.

On his first night in exile, he had serenaded Miss Granger with Andrew Lloyd Webber show tunes, crooning off-key at the top of his lungs, no less. When she had stopped screaming profanity-laced diatribes and pounding on the bedroom wall, he had assumed she'd cast a Silencing Charm, finally remembering her magical abilities. From that point forward, he sang – quite well, in his opinion – for his own enjoyment, a rich and full baritone suitable for a variety of musical genres from pop to punk.

He had quickly found other activities solely intended to irritate the insufferable Miss Granger. On the second day, he had cut off the water supply to her flat while she had been in the midst of a shower. The following day, he had turned off the power at the electrical service panel during her dinner preparation. Her flat had grown increasingly cold on the fourth day – her breath coming in icy white puffs, he'd imagined – after Snape had shut off the gas.

She had suffered four days of inconvenience before extending the anti-ghost wards to include the basement with its main access to all her utilities. But that hadn't stopped him from using the walls as his personal drum kit. A Silencing Charm would have drowned out the sound of him, but she would still feel the boom, boom, boom percussion of Snape's persistent knocking on the walls adjacent to her flat. To his knowledge, a charm to dampen vibration hadn't been invented yet, but if anyone could do it, Miss Granger would be the one.

He had known enough to vary his location, whacking the walls to chase her from room to room throughout the night. However, by the sixth day of his exile, she had extended the anti-ghost wards to include Flats Two and Three, effectively trapping Snape in Flat Four, its walls abutting her kitchen and spare bedroom. Zounds, thwarted again and by a Gryffindor almost half his age!

On Saturday morning, he entertained his captive, yet appreciative audience of one – himself – with old standards.

"That old blaaack maaagic

Has meee in its speeell,

That old blaaack maaagic

That you weeeave so weeell.

Those icy fiiingers

Up and down my spiiine... "

That song in particular made him think about some of the bad choices he had made in his youth. One in particular stood out as monumentally bad. But before he could start his maudlin game of "What if," he felt a shift in the barrier magic that had prevented his freedom of movement within the Shrieking Shack.

What is she doing?

Snape performed a cursory test, attempting to pass his left pinky finger into the adjacent flat; he figured if it were a trap, he would only lose the least useful digit on his non-dominant hand. It moved easily through the wall, suffering no untoward horrors, or any effects for that matter. Next, he tried the entire left hand, then his arm, and finally, his whole ethereal body floated unhindered into the neighboring flat. From there, he cautiously moved into Flat Two, just in time to witness Hermione leaving her flat and walking toward Hogsmeade proper.

The library's open once again.

He spent the day lounging on her sofa and reading to his heart's content. He chose The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a book he'd read many times before, but he took comfort in its familiarity. Judging from the condition of the book – faded cover, tattered and dog-eared corners, broken spine – Snape assumed it to be one of Hermione's favorites as well.

He lost track of time. Late in the afternoon, as the sun inched toward the horizon and pink candy floss clouds dotted the purple sky, the sound of laughter mixed with jingling keys shook him from his literary zone. His vaporous body vanished from the scene – he left in such a hurry he didn't bother to re-shelve the book – reappearing moments later in the flat next door.

From the front window, he saw his erstwhile room-mate in the company of a mysterious figure. Man or woman, he couldn't tell because of the shapeless, hooded cloak concealing the features of her guest. As Hermione drew closer to the front door, Snape noticed that while she looked well groomed from afar – her hair tamed and her clothes neatly pressed – the purple shadows beneath her lackluster eyes and her slow gait told a different story: she lacked her usual joie de vivre and feisty demeanor.

Still not sleeping well, I see, Miss Granger, he thought to himself, smirking in triumph.

At the moment she opened the door and crossed over the threshold, he fully expected to be hurtled through multiple structures – walls, flooring, ceiling – into his own vacant flat once again. He braced himself, waiting for the invisible bum's rush, and counted one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand... Nothing. He cracked one eye open, then the second, and finally released the breath he was holding. For whatever reason, she had refrained from casting the ever-present anti-ghost wards.

What are you playing at, Miss Granger?

Snape passed his head – just the left ear, not his entire head – through the wall into her flat so he could eavesdrop on the conversation between Hermione and her mystery guest.

"I didn't realize you had an interest in... Uh, what do you call it exactly?" Hermione asked.

"Paranormal investigations and counseling," her companion offered. "Some folks call it ghost whispering."

Oh, yes, Snape's inner voice cheered. This is your champion? The one who will vanquish me? That's rich, Miss Granger. I can smell your desperation a flat away.

"So, how many times have you performed... erm, spirit relocation?"

"Oh, dozens of times in theory."

"In theory?" she repeated, her voice shrill with alarm. "How exactly did you learn this... skill?"

"Well, as you know, I've always had an affinity for the strange and unusual, phenomena that most people – even magical folk – would dismiss if they couldn't see it, touch it, or measure it. Anyway, I was proofreading the classifieds for our July issue, and I came across an intriguing advert. 'Do you have the ability to see or feel things that others refuse to acknowledge? Do you have the ability to think outside the box? Are you looking for an exciting new career? Then ghost whispering is for you. Train with the industry's top paranormal counselors from the comfort of your home. In just a matter of weeks, you'll learn...'"

"Hold on. From the comfort of your home, you say? Your training was..."

"A correspondence course. I studied in my spare time after work."

"Okay. Let me get this straight. Everything you know about paranormal activities came by way of a correspondence course you found advertised in..."

"The Quibbler."

"Hahahaha!" Snape's rich belly laugh echoed through Hermione's flat, a never-ending cascade of mockery.

"Is that him?" Luna asked in earnest. "Is that Professor Snape?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, of course it's him. Unless there's another ghost around here I don't know about."

"In the six years I knew him, I never heard him laugh. It's quite lovely. Reminds me of chocolate laced with cinnamon, a treat that's sweet, decadent, and unexpected."

"I find him and his laughter to be cruel and humorless," Hermione retorted icily. "I want them both gone from here. Can you do that discreetly, or do your emotions hamper your judgment?"

"Don't worry, my friend," Luna's dreamy voice assured, "I can be cold and clinical when the situation calls for it."

"Well, the situation calls for it. Rid me of Snape's spirit once and for all, if you can."

If nothing else, this ought to be entertaining. Snape swiveled his head to watch Luna in action.

From the pocket of her robes, she retrieved a miniaturized bag which she then restored to full size. She pulled from it the items of her trade – a smudge stick and a salt cellar – and placed them next to her on the floor of the foyer.

"Erm, Luna... do you really intend to use that stuff? I mean, you're magical, so you don't need to use Muggle methods..."

"It's part of the ritual, Hermione, and I want to be thorough. Would you please open all the windows and doors," Luna instructed as she used her wand to ignite the bundle of sage she held.

"Adaperi." Every window and door to the flat snapped open with a muffled bang and a concomitant blast of cold air. Hermione shivered in response.

Luna blew out the fiery smudge stick and traced around Hermione's body with the wispy smoke. "If you would be so kind as to cleanse me as well," Luna said, offering it to her friend.

Hermione drew a smoky outline around Luna and then handed the sage back to her.

Luna placed the dish of salt in Hermione's left hand. "You are in charge of sealing each room after it's been cleansed. It will be easier and less time consuming if we perform the spirit cleansing in one spot rather than the whole Shrieking Shack. Is there some way you could isolate Professor Snape here in your flat?"

"Of course." Hermione whispered an incantation while sweeping her wand arm in a three-quarter, anti-clockwise arc.

Quicker than a wink of Mad-Eye Moody's good eye, Snape materialized in the entry hall, his head arriving a full second before the rest of his body. The abrupt motion left him dizzy and nauseous, and he crumpled to the floor, a billowy heap of blackened ether.

"Granger," he snarled, glaring at her as he righted himself and smoothed his robes. "If you required my assistance, why didn't you..."

"Now, Luna!"

The novice ghost whisperer advanced on Snape, waving the smudge stick at him. "Severus Snape," she intoned loudly, "you are dead..."

"I'm painfully aware of that Miss Lovegood, however..."

"Yet you remain in the world of the living."

"Not my choice, mind you." His droll tone sounded almost conciliatory.

Luna took one step forward; Snape took one step backward. She led him in an awkward dance through the lounge, swirling the smudge stick around and around, the smoking sage forming a haze around them both. Soon the wispy trail of the smudge stick petered out to nothing. Luna whispered, "Incendio," and it reignited.

"You are not meant to be here. It is time to move on to the other side, Severus Snape."

"Don't I wish."

Hermione followed them and sprinkled a pinch of the blessed salt in the doorway as they waltzed out of the room.

Snape continued to walk backward in retreat as Luna forced him through the hallway and into the kitchen, stepping to-and-fro in a reverse Fred-and-Ginger mode. He didn't know what to make of the flighty Ravenclaw spouting New Age aphorisms and waving flaming poultry seasoning in the air.

"Go into the light, Professor Snape. You will find the peace you seek... in the light."

"I had peace here before Miss Granger moved in."

"Your friends and family await you on the other side."

"In the light? I seriously doubt that, Miss Lovegood. I ran with a darker crowd, you might remember."

His snarky responses came automatically, second nature to him after years of verbal sparring with countless antagonists. But his ghostly magic failed him, his "fight or flight" response dulled by shock. The ever ready, perspicacious spy had left the building only to be replaced by a doe in the headlights.

Luna forged ahead, forcing him up the stairs, sweeping through the spare bedroom, Hermione's room and the bathroom, finally descending the stairs to the last unsmudged, unsealed room, the foyer.

The pervasive purple-gray haze of smoking sage added to his gloom and angst. The huffy Hermione Granger hurling the dish of salt through him added to his alarm.

"Luna, you've cleansed every inch of this place, and I've sealed it with the salt. So why is Snape still here? Isn't he supposed to be basking in the light of peace and serenity or something like that?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I can't force him to leave. I can only encourage him to move on. Ultimately, it's Professor Snape's decision whether he passes to the other side or stays in our world."

Snape breathed a prolonged, inaudible sigh of relief. Luna's strange ritual could not send him to the perilous hinterlands outside the Shack or the endless despair of the Lost Souls Room. He would not be doomed to oblivion by the likes of Lovegood, but he could not dismiss the disgruntled Granger. His stomach churned and somersaulted quite uncomfortably, a feeling he hadn't experienced since that staff Christmas party when Albus, trailed by a hovering sprig of mistletoe, strayed a little too close for Snape's comfort. His current suspicions were not unfounded either.

Hermione looked off into the distance as she chewed her lower lip. "I have no choice but to involve the Ministry."

"What will they do to him?" Luna asked, mildly alarmed.

"I don't know, and I don't care. The Ministry intervened when Moaning Myrtle was tormenting some poor girl, a former classmate; they made her return to Hogwarts."

"You know, I could try again tomorrow," Luna offered. "I could come back every day until I've convinced him to leave."

Snape grew cold – well, colder – at the thought of multiple repeat performances of Miss Lovegood's comedy of errors. That had the potential to push him over the edge.

Hermione shook her head. "No, thanks, Luna. I appreciate what you've done tonight." She paused and raised her wand in dramatic fashion. "In the meantime, it's back to Flat Four with you, Prof..."

"Stop!" Snape commanded, but her wand remained on high, poised for action. "We can negotiate a truce, Miss Granger."

His lips curled into a rare smile. He meant to appear approachable, contrite even, but judging by the look of repulsion on her face, he most likely came across as constipated.

"Well, that's too bad because I've just run out of politeness and compromise. I've offered you the figurative olive branch, Snape, and you all but gave me the two-fingered salute. Now it's back to the empty flat for you until the Ministry sorts you out."

As she moved to cast the anti-ghost wards, Snape glided forward, his hands raised in concession. Hermione lowered her wand – inch by agonizing inch – her vigilant gaze never straying from his face.

"Very well," he agreed, his tone clipped, yet not unkind. "I'll play by your rules, Miss Granger."

"No tricks. No voyeurism. Period." She crossed her arms across her chest and pressed her full, lush lips into a thin, flat line.

"Promise," he said with utmost sincerity, extending his pearly gray hand, all the while trying to avoid staring at the shiny beacon that was Hermione's ample bosom.

She grasped his hand without any hesitation. Her whole body shivered in response to their brief handshake, and she dropped his hand, as though it were a burning coal.

It took every ounce of self-control to hold back the smirk that threatened to crack his perfectly placid face.

Luna's bulbous gray eyes shifted back and forth between Hermione and Snape. "Well, my work here is done. I'll just be going now. Goodnight, Hermione, Professor."

Snape found untapped reserves of self-restraint holding his eyeballs stock still within their sockets. "Goodnight, Miss Lovegood. Thank you for such an... interesting evening."

Hermione's glare would have killed Snape if he weren't already dead. At the other end of the spectrum, Luna seemed to enjoy his sarcasm.

"You're welcome, Professor. I hope it was enlightening for you." She retrieved her discarded smudge stick and salt cellar, stowing them in her satchel, miniaturizing it, then placing it in her pocket.

Hermione escorted her friend to the fireplace. "Thanks again for trying, Luna."

"I'm sorry it didn't work the way you expected. My offer still stands, though. I'll come back and try again if you like. Maybe with more practice, I could persuade him to leave."

"I'll pass for the time being. I think the Professor and I have reached an agreement of sorts."

"That's good because you have a lot in common, you know. The two of you should get along swimmingly unless you kill each other. That's kind of a moot issue, isn't it?"

In one seamless fluid motion, Hermione hugged her friend, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the container on the mantel, dashed it into the hearth, announced, "Lovegood residence," spun Luna around and gently pushed her into the flaring green flames. "Goodnight, Luna. I'll be in touch."

"I thought she'd never leave," Snape joked, his irrepressible smirk shining like the sun.

"Professor..." Hermione didn't seem in the mood for humor at the moment. She collapsed upon the sofa, her eyes squeezed shut.

Roar. The quiet of the Shrieking Shack was shattered by the sound of a fire bursting to life in the empty grate. Trickle. Then the sound of liquid pouring into a glass.

Her eyes shot open upon hearing the unexpected noise. And there was Snape, relaxing in the cushy armchair before the roaring fire, immersed nose-deep in a snifter of brandy.

"Drink, Miss Granger?"

"No, thanks," she sighed. "I'm knackered. I'm going to sleep. But first thing tomorrow morning, you and I will put our considerable intellects to good use and solve the problem of your continued existence... erm, or non-existence, as it were."

A/N: Seems that Hermione isn't the only one who appreciates classic rock.

Luna's ritual is based on real life spirit-cleansing. Author and ghost investigator, hypnobarb1 wrote a very detailed how-to entry at LiveJournal.

Next up: There is peace, but Hermione is still annoying Snape, and his unfinished business remains unfinished.