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Fading by Tiffr
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Fading

Tiffr

Thanks to dracosbabe1018, darcharlie, vanillascent, easilyconfused, meg, twilight sprite, La Hermione, Diablo of Darkness, DarkenedQuasar, Draco's Gurl, and anonymous reviewers for your supporting comments! I'm starting to really love this story-I think it's one of the only originally inspired fics I've written. Well, I guess that means that regardless of the number of reviews I'm keeping it...but that doesn't mean that y'all should stop reviewing! Well I finally got chapter 2 up-yayness!

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Fading

Chapter Two: Recognition

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"Well, you're not a ghost."

"I thought we already had that established." Weaslette sent a glare that way that told me she didn't appreciate my witty humor. Bullocks.

"I've got all of Hermione's books here on ghosts, the afterlife, all of that bloody mess. You can look through them."

"I can...what?"

"You really didn't expect me to look for you, did you?" Taking a look at my face she laughed. Had the nerve to laugh...at me! A Weasley laughing at a Malfoy!

"Well sorry, Weasley, but I'm rich enough to have other people do dirty work for me. Besides, I wouldn't want to taint my fingers by touching filth like this." Weasley turned rigid, and I could see her take a deep breath in. Ha, this was really too easy.

"That explains a lot, Malfoy," she finally said. "Is that how you graduated? Have your servants do your homework for you? I was always amazed that a shithead like you could graduate third in your class."

Claws, Weaslette. Claws.

Sending a smirk my way Weaslette turned and walked away, a significant sway of her hips catching my attention.

Maybe she wasn't the repulsive, plain girl I once thought she was.

In any case, there wasn't any way in the world I was going to stay indoors and read these Merlin forsaken books. I wasn't Granger, for bloody sake.

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"Daddy!" a little boy screamed, giggling in bliss as his father tickled him and cradled him in his arms.

"I love you," a girl whispered before hugging a red-faced, embarrassed looking bloke.

"Mum, I want that toy! Mum, do you see that? Mum!" a little girl squealed, smiling as she looked at a doll in a window.

"Yes, sweet, I see it," her mother replied, smiling down at her little girl. "We'll ask Daddy if we can buy it, how about that?"

"Okay!"

I walked further along the muggle road, frowning at the happy scenes all around me. No real families were like that. They didn't just willingly give out hugs and kisses and random "I love you"s. Of course not. Functional families respected each other, sat down for dinner every day. No surplus acts of affection. Affection made people weak. Those delusional people were just...

...just mental...

"Oh, sweetie!" a mother cooed, hugging a bawling baby close to her bosom. "Don't worry, Mummy's got you...oh, did that evil buggy bite you?"

Really. This was just disgusting.

A puff of brown hair caught my attention. The whispy, uncontrollable nature of it just reminded me so much of Granger...I instinctively sneered...

"No, Mum, I really have to get going," she said, and I was floored. Bloody hell, it was Granger!

"Well, all right, Sweet," the woman standing in front of her said, petting Granger's hair with her hand as she smiled at her daughter.

Futile attempt, woman.

"If anything happens to Daddy, you send me an owl, okay? I've told you, Mum, phones don't work where I-"

"Yes, yes...I just attach the letter to its little feet then?"

"Yes."

How hard is it to give a piece of parchment to a bird and have it do everything for you? I don't know how muggles communicate, those sodding idiots.

"All right. Stay safe now, Hermione." Granger tried to smile.

"I'll...try, Mum."

"Do tell Ron that I said hi, won't you?" I saw Granger freeze, saw her hands clench her purse tightly.

"I...can't."

"Oh, did he go somewhere?"

I guess it's proven, then. Muggles really are dim witted creatures.

"No, not really, Mum..."

"Then what is it?" Noticing the look on Granger's face the woman asked, "What happened?"

Finally caught on, then?

"He...he didn't..." Granger's mother gasped, her hands coming to cover her mouth as her eyes widened.

"You're not saying that Ron..."

"Yes," Granger managed to choke out. "He's not here, anymore."

"Oh, honey," Granger's mother said, gathering her daughter to her as she stroked her hair. "Oh honey..."

"Don't tell me it'll be okay," Granger whispered. "Please don't lie to me."

"Wouldn't think of it, dear," Granger's mother muttered back.

"I don't know what I'm going to be able to do..." Granger cried, hiding her tear stained face in her mother's coat.

"You've still got Harry," Granger's mother said, trying to blink away tears. "Yes, yes. And Ginny. Ginny's a dear. And Neville-"

"It's not the same, Mum!" Granger exclaimed. "I loved him...you just don't get that twice in life..."

"No, honey," Granger's mother said, sighing. "No, you don't."

And I had enough of this sob-fest.

Who would think that someone would miss Weasley that much. Such an ignorant, terribly financed prick. Really.

But I couldn't deny that something inside of me reached out for Granger. Part of me wanted to cry with her. I don't know what the bloody hell happened, yet I couldn't help but asking...

...did anyone miss me like that?

As I trudged away back to Weaslette, I knew the answer.

I didn't need to see it to know.

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In a rare occurrence, it is believed that a spirit can come back to the living for a short period of time to execute his final deeds. They will come back physically to only one person, who will be able to see, feel, and touch them. To everyone else, he will only be a whisp of air. He will not be able to touch them, talk to them, etc. What he is able to do is touch inanimate objects. He is not able to walk through solid objects, as ghosts are capable of doing. He is merely trapped inside the living until he does his final deeds, or learns his final lessons.

Learns his final lessons?

The designated person is not chosen by the spirit but by the powers of the after life. It is with this person that they believe he will be able to accomplish most with.

So I was to accomplish things with Weaslette. I snorted.

Not much information is available on this subject, as it is rare. It is believed, however, that this happens to only one person per millennium. It is to those the afterlife pities the most that is able to receive this second chance.

Pity?

What happens after the deeds are accomplished is unknown. Some say that the spirit merely goes to his designated spot in the afterlife. Others say that time is unfurled, and he is able to be given another chance at real life.

A-another chance?

All that is certain is that if the spirit does not use his time wisely, all will be lost and he will be sent to the darkest depths of Hell.

That doesn't sound good.

Laying the book on the sheets of the cot I stood up, frowning as I began to pace.

So, I was some sort of ghost-person who only Weaslette was able to see, and I was put here to accomplish something, or learn something, and if I don't, then I'll be shunned to the darkest depths of Hell?

Thanks, Mum.

But wait...a smirk began to form on my face as I realized just what power I held over other mortals.

That's right. Other mortals. I wasn't mortal...

My eyes brightened at the thought.

I could touch inanimate objects...I could pay Potter back for that humiliating scene in front of the Shrieking Shack in our third year. Oh, yes.

Walking out of that blasted infirmary I searched for Potter, wondering if he was even in the same building.

Must be. I saw other members of the Order walking around, conversing with each other and carrying stacks of paper.

"Potter? No, don't bother Harry right now..." The man sighed.

"Look, we all know how much it hurts...but he wasn't the only casualty. He has to remember that-"

"I know, Amos. He knows. But show some sympathy. He just wants a few moments to himself."

"Where is he?"

"In his room. Third floor, room 3B."

"All right. I'll just file this paperwork and talk to Arthur before going up."

"There's a mate, Amos."

Third floor, room 3B...third floor, room 3B...third floor, room 3B...

Haha, Potter was really going to get it this time...

Third floor, room 3B...third floor, room 3B...third floor, room 3B...

As I finally got to the third floor I saw the room and checking the hallways, slipped in.

The door was unlocked. No barriers, nothing. Maybe it was because I wasn't really real, but still. Unimpressive.

I nearly crackled with glee as I saw Potter sitting on the edge of his bed. He hadn't looked around for anything, which made me think that his reflexes were dimming down. His bloody door just opened, for Merlin's sake! This was the best auror the ministry could provide? Pitiful.

As I walked closer, however, I noticed that he was shaking. Was he laughing?

"Damnit!" Potter yelled before whipping off his glasses and throwing them fiercely at the wall in front of him, the glass shattering and falling to the floor in pieces.

Hm. Not the entertaining episode I had in mind.

Potter sat back down on the bed, holding his head in his hands as he began to tremble again. "Damnit," I heard him mutter again as he ran his fingers through his hair.

That bloody bloke wasn't crying, was he?

"Harry?" a timid voice came. Potter swung around, his eyes driving a hole right through me. Don't tell me that book was full of shit...

"Ginny," he replied, and I turned around to see Weaslette standing in the doorway. She entered the room, her eyes glancing from me to Potter. A ghost of a smirk flowed across her lips as she shut the door behind her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear while she walked further into the pit of doom.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. I couldn't get out now. If they were going to shag their goody-ass brains out, I would be forced to watch. Augh.

"What're you...doing?" she asked, her swollen eyes looking intently at Harry.

"You've been crying," he stated, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"Are you okay?" Weaslette asked. I rolled my eyes. Here was the part where Potter would break down, be the sissy he truly is and roll around in misery. And if he's smart, welcome a warm chest to lay his head on. But I couldn't expect too much from Pothead.

"Fine," he muttered, his eyes still on Weaslette. "You've been crying."

Really? Wow, I didn't notice. You're brilliant, Potter. Let me get on my knees and kiss your feet. Maybe some of the dirt sticking to your shoes will filter in and I'll become brilliant, too.

"I'm fine," Weaslette said, sniffing. Her eyes glanced to me again and I knew she was daring me to escape.

"It'll be okay, Gin," Potter finally said. I knew immediately those weren't the right words to say.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry," Weaslette growled. "Don't you fucking lie to me, okay? I think I know more than you do just how much it means to have him gone."

Claws, Weaslette. She's been sharpening them.

"Don't you think I'm some naive little girl waiting for Ron to walk right back into my life, Harry," she added. "Don't try to protect me."

"Not trying to," Potter finally said, and I could see him swallow.

"Then what are you trying to do! For Merlin's sake-"

"I'm trying to convince myself, okay?!" he exclaimed, trembling again.

Again with the trembling.

Weaslette paled, swallowing herself as her eyes glanced to anywhere in the room besides Pothead.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, breathing hard through his nose. "I didn't-"

"It's okay," Weaslette said, smiling at Potter. "I miss him, too."

"He was right there," Potter muttered. "Malfoy was after me. Not him. He was just...there..."

"We don't blame you, Harry," Weaslette uttered softly.

"Don't tell me that!" Potter nearly screamed. "You and I both know you wish it were me that died instead of Ron!"

Ouch.

"That's not true," Weaslette whispered, her eyes wide.

"Oh please," Potter snarled, sitting back down on the bed. "I wish it were me instead of him."

Don't we all.

"Don't." Potter, Weaslette and I turned our heads to find Granger entering the room, a trying smile on her face. "You're here for a reason. We're all here for a reason."

Hm. How is it that Granger is lecturing even when she's crying?

"Ginny? Could you...I mean to say..."

"Sure, 'Mione," Weaslette answered, taking in a deep breath as she glanced at Potter. Potter ignored her glance, his eyes fixed solely on his two hands. Biting her lip she left.

So now, I had two choices. Stay in there and listen to Potter and Granger bawl. Or I could go and listen to Weaslette bawl.

I followed Weaslette. Better to have something nice to look at.

"What were you doing in there," she said once I entered the infirmary. I knew I'd find her here. She was busy redoing the cot sheets, walking around hurriedly.

"Bored," I answered simply, my hands settling into my pockets as I stepped into the middle of the room.

"I see," she replied, sniffing slightly. She stopped her movements, her hands shaking as she laid them down on a pillow. "Did you see him?"

"What?" I answered, unnerved.

"Did you see Ron?" She turned her head slightly, her eyes fixed on my shoe.

"Of course. I was out there, I know you saw me-"

"No," she whispered. "I mean...did you see him? A-after?" Her eyes glanced up to meet mine, and the trembling of her body, the frailness of her figure, the pleading in her eyes...my breath caught in my throat as I looked at her. After a moment she shook her head, her eyes closed as she rigidly stood up. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying. Nonsense is all..."

"Weasley?" I asked, a frown on my face. I don't know what came over me...but I suddenly felt as if I should protect her, comfort her. I knew she was a Weasley...but I felt a certain bond to her as she was on the brink of insanity, that thin line between independence and desperately needing support.

"Y-yes?" she stuttered, her eyes darting to the plants on the windowsill. She squared her jaw and marched towards them, determined, I suppose, to heal their slightly drooping figure. As she tried to pass me I grabbed her arms, my eyes boring into hers.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. Weaslette's nature reminded me so much of when my Mum died...as strong as I was, Mother was everything I had ever cared about. With her gone, I felt empty...motionless...everything I did was routine. I once wanted to be my father, do everything he did, to make her proud of me. I thought that it was the only way to make her finally love me...because back then, I thought that she did love him. Now...now I knew better. I'm certainly not a sentimental person. But here was someone who had grown into a strong, independent woman...someone that I respected, regardless of all my resentment. And seeing her like this unnerved me to no extent...bit away at me until I lost all my resolve to taunt her, to break her. Because suddenly, I didn't want that. I wanted her to be as she usually was...her smirking, bitchy self.

"I am too," she said back, her bottom lip trembling. She tore her eyes away from me, a deep, racking breath flowing through her body as she tried once again to control her tears. "But I told myself, you know, that I wouldn't cry...I...I can't, you don't understand, I just..."

"I know," I said, suddenly remembering the night I found my Mum's body. Hearing that my father had led the Order to the Manor...and then escaping, forcing my mother to drink a polyjuice so that he could...an accident, a fire burning my home to ashes...running through the ruined walls, a maze that I couldn't get out of...finding her body at my feet, burnt beyond recognition, but such a feeling of loss pulsing through me that I couldn't mistake her for anyone else...

And for a strong moment, we understood each other, Weaslette and I.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. I didn't know who it was directed towards...herself? Me? Weasley? All I knew was that suddenly she was pressed up against me, her face in the crook of my shoulder as she cried, her hands fisting my robe as she clung desperately. I held her in my arms, tears finally escaping my own eyes. I watched them as they rolled down my porcelain cheeks and fell into crimson hair. Tears I had held, kept on bay. I had never cried. My father had brought me up thinking that crying wasn't acceptable...so I never did. This was every fear, every sadness I had felt since I was seven years old finally escaping out of my body. I felt that burden lift off of my conscious...and I couldn't help but smile.

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