Ghost of a Chance by Renaiya880727

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 23/06/2005
Last Updated: 23/06/2005
Status: Completed

Hermione and Moaning Myrtle have a 'talk' about Harry...I've been promising this
story for a while, so here it is. Apologies for shortness




1. Ghost of a Chance
--------------------



AN: As promised, here it is. Shorter than I would have liked, but here nonetheless.

* * *

It all started with Harry.

That is, it all started with the afternoon Harry walked into the common room alternately
shivering and shuddering, hair even more disheveled than usual, robes and glasses askew, face pale,
with shards of ice glinting in his hair and on his clothes, glancing over his shoulder as though
expecting a stalker.

Hermione, on noticing her boyfriend's condition, stood up and hurried to his side, guiding
him to an armchair in front of the fire. She recognized the signs of someone who had just run
into-or through, whichever you prefer-one of the more insubstantial residents of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. That is to say, Harry had obviously just gone through a ghost.

“Who'd you run into?” Hermione asked, smoothing Harry's bangs back from his eyes. He
shuddered, as though his had been a particularly chilling experience.

Hermione was more than a little worried at this point. People who ran into-or through- ghosts
usually got over it in a matter of minutes. Paleness and shivering were common, but Harry's
disheveled appearance, and the bits of ice did not concur with the usual symptoms of ghostly
encounters.

“Harry, tell me why you're so shaken up.” Hermione insisted.

Harry regarded her warily. It seemed as though he was trying to find the words to describe what
he had experienced.

When he finally did find the words, Hermione stared at him in confusion for perhaps half a
second before realization struck. When it did, she grabbed her wand and flew from the room, heading
for a certain bathroom.

Ron came down the stairs to the boys' dormitory just in time to see Hermione disappear
through the portrait hole in a hurry. He looked to Harry for an explanation.

“What's got her so riled?”

Harry merely shrugged, before leaning forward to warm his hands in front of the fire.

“Dunno. I just asked her if it would be possible to have Moaning Myrtle arrested for sexual
harassment, and she left.”

* * *

Moaning Myrtle had never particularly liked living people. At least she never favored one over
the other. One insulting swine was the same as another to her. Myrtle was deeply jealous of anyone
with the ability to breathe, with the exception of one person. A certain sixth-year Gryffindor boy
with dark hair and glasses, who had actually been kind to her on more than one occasion.

Moaning Myrtle had liked Harry from the moment he had walked into her bathroom four years
before, and said, “What's up, Myrtle?” As if he had nothing better to do then inquire after her
well being. She had liked him even more when he asked her, “Why would I throw something at you?” In
a tone of such incredulousness that it suggested to Myrtle that is was quite beyond Harry to think
of any reason why people would want to be mean to her.

Then he had picked up that diary, regardless of his friend's warnings, as though he had no
fear of death at all, which she admired him even more for, because she was still scared of death,
even though she had been deceased for over fifty years.

Then he just had to go fight the very monster that had killed her all those years ago. It was
then that Myrtle fell for Harry. She spent the entire night after that, from the point he slid down
the pipe, to when he emerged from it (disappointingly still alive) fantasizing over and over Harry
dying facing her murderer, then spending forever with her, happily haunting the toilets. She was
deeply disappointed when he emerged alive, and didn't show the slightest bit of interest when
she hinted that she wouldn't mind having him around for a long period of time.

She decided more drastic measures were needed.

First she snuck up on him in the bathroom, reluctantly shielding her eyes at certain
inappropriate moments, and helping him to figure out the eggs' clue. Although this was helping
to keep him alive longer, and therefore not directly aiding her plan, she thought that if he died
in the lake, he might be more likely to stick around sources of water afterwards. However, before
he left the bathroom, he not only insulted her with his tactless remark about breathing, he also
promised to come see her in the bathroom sometime, a promise which he didn't seem in any hurry
to keep.

So, Myrtle had decided to step things up even more.

How was she to know that Harry would resist her advances so adamantly? She had been forced to
fly to keep up with him as he ran, and when she finally caught up with him, they both received a
shock. Myrtle knew people were subject to chills at the touch of a ghostly being, but she had no
idea that a ghost kissing a living person would not only shock the ghost, but would encrust the
living person with a thin layer of ice that was, nevertheless, difficult to get out of.

She had left Harry in the middle of the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room, shaking off
his newly acquired icy shell, while she flew away, mortified.

She knew she probably had as much chance of securing Harry for herself now as Snape had of
getting a date to Hogsmeade. But she wasn't going to give up trying. She'd give Harry a few
days to cool off -or warm up-- then try again. She had decided against physical contact though.
Maybe something subtle, like flattery, would do the trick.

Her musings were interrupted by Hermione's arrival.

The door to her stall banged open. Myrtle raised her bespectacled face slowly to see Hermione
Granger, Harry's girlfriend, standing there with a look of utmost fury on her face.

“Oh, it's you.”

“Darn right, it's me.” Hermione snarled, stepping into the stall and closing the door behind
her.

“This stall is occupied, so I suggest you do your business elsewhere.” Myrtle sniffed. “Unless
there's something else you need?”

“As if you don't know why I'm here.” Hermione snorted mirthlessly. “How many times do I
have to tell you, to stay away from Harry?”

“He has the right to see whoever he wants to see, or are you deciding who he can and can't
talk to now?”

“I believe Harry himself has also told you to bugger off on more than one occasion.” Hermione
said icily.

Myrtle sighed longingly. “He's so hot when he threatens people.”

As much as Hermione agreed with that statement, no girl can stand a rival calling her boyfriend
hot.

“This is your last warning, Myrtle. Stay away from Harry, or—“

“You'll what?” Myrtle interrupted. “Hex me? I'm dead, remember? Besides, I'm sure
once Harry realizes how much we have in common, he'll be *dying* to be with me. Pun
intended.”

Hermione let out a shriek of incredulous laughter.

“Common? How much could you two possibly have in common? He's flesh and blood and tall,
dark, and handsome. In other words, not your type.” Hermione pointed out.

“Not my type? Name one thing he has that I don't.”

“A pulse. And a tan.” Hermione snapped. *A very nice tan….* Whoa, down girl, she thought
blushing.

“Other than that.” Myrtle snapped back. “Differences between life and death can be easily taken
care of. It's only a matter of time before Harry dies. I've waited this long, I can hang in
there for a few more years. Then where'll you be, huh? Weeping over his grave while I introduce
him to certain aspects of ghostly life that I'm sure will make him forget about you.”

Though Myrtle didn't know it, she had just given voice to Hermione's worst fear.
Hermione knew very well there was a chance Harry could die soon, as well as how dangerous it was
for her to be romantically involved with him. She often had nightmares about a headstone bearing
Harry's name.

“You have no idea what you're talking about.” She said in a dangerously quiet tone of voice.
“Harry promised to be faithful to me, in life and death. And I promised to be faithful to him. Do
you honestly think,” she smiled. “that you have a ghost of a chance of ever being with him, even in
death?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Myrtle answered, rolling her eyes at the `ghost of a
chance' remark.

“I mean, that Harry is never going to be a ghost.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Think about it Myrtle. The only people who become ghosts are people who are afraid of death.
Harry once told me that he wasn't the least bit afraid of dying, at least not for himself. He
said that he's faced death so often it's almost like meeting an old friend now. He also
said the only regret he'd have if he died was that he'd leave me behind. I told him that I
wouldn't want him to linger for my sake, because I'd join him eventually. I told him that
if death was where he was, then I would have no reason to be afraid of it, and so I wouldn't
become a ghost either.”

Myrtle's shoulders sagged. Hermione felt a stirring of pity in her heart, but her desire to
make Myrtle understand outweighed the need to comfort the dead girl.

“Listen Myrtle. I know how you feel when it comes to longing for Harry. I still do, even though
I know now that he knows I love him, and he loves me back. Whenever I'm away from him, it's
like there's a constant ache in my heart, even though I know I'll see him again soon. I
also fear for him, and I know perfectly well there's a chance he could be made to leave me for
a long time. But that doesn't change the fact that I love him, and he loves me. He can never
love you Myrtle. After all, how can you love someone when your heart belongs to someone else?”

Myrtle sniffed, her eyes filling with pearly tears. “But, he was always so nice to me.” She
sobbed.

Hermione would have put a comforting arm around her, but for the fact that it wouldn't have
done any good.

“That's exactly why I fell for him too,” she laughed. “He was the only person who never
called me names. He also saved me from a troll, a basilisk, about a hundred dementors, numerous
death eaters, and he supports S.P.E.W., and chews with his mouth closed, unlike some others I could
name.”

Myrtle raised her head, half-smiling. “You know how he looks so cute when he's
confused?”

Hermione laughed again. “It's those little things that made me fall for him. But the bottom
line is he's a good person. Besides, if you think he looks cute when he's confused, you
should see him when he's sleeping. So innocent.”

Myrtle hooted. “Sleeping? You should see him in the bathtub!”

Hermione's wand was at Myrtle's throat in an instant, he anger back.

“And just when did you see Harry in the bathtub?” She whispered dangerously.

*

Harry was plowing through his homework while everyone else was at dinner. Hermione had still not
returned. He could only assume she was still having a talk with Myrtle. He hoped that the outcome
would be in his favor, he didn't fancy having to chip himself out of ice blocks every day until
he left Hogwarts for good.

He shuddered as the memory of Myrtle's kiss returned to him. Hermione was the only one who
had ever kissed him like that before, and he knew which of the two he preferred. Myrtle's felt
like a block of ice covering his mouth, while's Hermione's kisses were far warmer and
sweeter…

His pleasant train of though was interrupted by Hermione's reappearance. If he had looked
worse for wear after his encounter with Myrtle, Hermione looked twice as bad. She was dripping wet,
her shoes squelched as she stomped into the common room, but she held her head high and had a
distinct look of pride on her face as she sat next to Harry, spraying him with water as she flipped
her wet hair out of her face.

“So, how did it go?” Harry asked nonchalantly, shutting his book and laying down his quill.

“Let's just say that Myrtle found out the hard way that there are spells that can affect
ghosts.” Hermione said smugly, laying her wand on the table.

Harry sighed in relief, sitting back on the sofa. “So I take it that Myrtle won't be spying
on me out of drainpipes or blowing in my ear when I sleep, then?”

“I'm sure she'll leave you alone. The threat of exorcism from the castle can do that to
a ghost.”

“Well, in that case thank you.”

“Just one question though, Harry.” Hermione said as Harry cast a drying charm on her.

“Myrtle's kiss, what did it feel like?”

Harry shuddered. “Are you trying to creep me out? `Cause it's working.”

Hermione laughed. “I'm just wondering if maybe a part of you liked it, in some twisted
way.”

Harry snorted. “Oh, please. I may be crazy but I'm not perverted. I can honestly say that
that, *kiss,* if you could even dignify it with that title, is very high on my list of things
I *never* want to experience again.”

Hermione laid her head on his lap and Harry started running his fingers through her hair.

“We did talk about other things, though. She said all she had to do was bide her time until you
died. I explained to her how you could never become a ghost, and she got pretty upset, you can
imagine.” Hermione muttered, fighting the urge to moan with pleasure as Harry's fingers
massaged her scalp.

“Well she had a point you know. It may not be that long before I die.”

Hermione sat up quickly. “What do you mean? Have you heard something from the Order? Has
Vol—“

Harry cut her off. “Nothing like that. It's just that the Quidditch final against Slytherin
is next week.” Upon seeing the confused look on her face, he elaborated. “You've seen the
stunts I pull on the pitch, Hermione. I can't keep dodging the bullet.”

Hermione laughed and lay her head against his shoulder, their fingers intertwining as they
stared at the dancing flames of the fire.

“So, that kiss really was horrible, wasn't it?” She said suddenly.

“Absolutely.”

“Why don't I help you forget about it then?” Hermione said coyly grabbing the back of his
shirt collar and pulling him towards her.

“Hermione, you don't —mmfff.”

“Mmmm.”

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