The Living Ghost at Hogwarts
Four.
Harry could not help himself. He wanted to see more of her. He wanted to know what she was like but he had not a clue as to what to say to her. Harry did not know her. He didn’t even know her name—but he wanted to. He wanted to know everything about her.
There was an innate fragility about her and yet—at the same time—she appeared to be encased in a shroud of hostility that kept all others at bay. Ever since he saw her in the library that day in September, she had been on his mind.
Harry looked for her outside the walls of the library but he never found her. He didn’t have any classes with her and he knew he would remember seeing her before. There was no way he could miss someone like her. Harry searched for her during meals but he never saw her at any of the tables. He looked for her in the hallways but he never saw her.
Harry knew nothing about the girl except what she looked like. Her image had been burned into his mind when many nights spent peering at her from over the top of a book. Harry couldn’t even tell what house she was in; even after all of this time he had never seen her decorated with any of the House insignia. He always saw her in jeans and a nondescript t-shirt—nothing that told him anything about her.
Finally, Harry decided, he would talk to her. He got up from the table and then quickly lost his nerve. So he decided to hide among the shelves as he gathered his thoughts before speaking to her. Hiding behind a bookshelf, he leaned slightly to peer around the edge to look at her.
She sat quietly as she always did: with her nose buried in a book. Harry sighed—why couldn’t he think of a single thing to say to her? She was not even intimidating. She was just sitting there for Merlin’s sake! Suddenly, the brown haired girl looked up and Harry immediately busied himself with pretending to look at the titles of the books before him.
His heart was racing; she had caught him staring, but he had seen her eyes. They were, he found, a peculiar grey-blue. Harry smiled at his little victory. He now knew something about her that he didn’t know before.
Slowly, he leaned slowly to glance at her again, but she was gone.
There was an innate fragility about her and yet—at the same time—she appeared to be encased in a shroud of hostility that kept all others at bay. Ever since he saw her in the library that day in September, she had been on his mind.
Harry looked for her outside the walls of the library but he never found her. He didn’t have any classes with her and he knew he would remember seeing her before. There was no way he could miss someone like her. Harry searched for her during meals but he never saw her at any of the tables. He looked for her in the hallways but he never saw her.
Harry knew nothing about the girl except what she looked like. Her image had been burned into his mind when many nights spent peering at her from over the top of a book. Harry couldn’t even tell what house she was in; even after all of this time he had never seen her decorated with any of the House insignia. He always saw her in jeans and a nondescript t-shirt—nothing that told him anything about her.
Finally, Harry decided, he would talk to her. He got up from the table and then quickly lost his nerve. So he decided to hide among the shelves as he gathered his thoughts before speaking to her. Hiding behind a bookshelf, he leaned slightly to peer around the edge to look at her.
She sat quietly as she always did: with her nose buried in a book. Harry sighed—why couldn’t he think of a single thing to say to her? She was not even intimidating. She was just sitting there for Merlin’s sake! Suddenly, the brown haired girl looked up and Harry immediately busied himself with pretending to look at the titles of the books before him.
His heart was racing; she had caught him staring, but he had seen her eyes. They were, he found, a peculiar grey-blue. Harry smiled at his little victory. He now knew something about her that he didn’t know before.
Slowly, he leaned slowly to glance at her again, but she was gone.