eight | spirits

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When Ginny arrived home from Quidditch practice a few minutes later, Harry hurried to the door to greet her, something she was pleasantly surprised by as he hadn't put in effort like that in weeks.

"Gin, hey," he said, kissing her quickly, carelessly. "This is so insane, there's something you've got to see-"

"Oh, my day was fine, thanks," she rolled her eyes sarcastically, more than slightly hurt as she shoved her kit bag from her shoulder to the floorboards. "How was yours, Mr. Urgency?"

"Good, yeah," Harry answered distractedly. "But, Gin, look-"

In truth his day hadn't been good, but Harry didn't remember that in that moment. He was only aware of Malfoy, his ghost in the next room, and a little of the warmth that his girlfriend had brought back into the house.

"You've brought me a Weasel," Malfoy smirked as the couple rounded the corner into the kitchen where he'd been waiting.

Harry's eyes snapped defensively to his girlfriend, expecting her famous temper to flare at the insult, but her expression remained impassive and calm.

"Why are you staring me, Harry?" she asked, a slow smile creeping over her face. "Have I got some dirt on my face from practice?"

"No?" Harry frowned. Was she stupid, he wondered? He threw an arm widely out towards Malfoy's corner of the room. "I mean, yeah, you do a bit, but I was talking more about the ghost of our dead schoolmate?"

"The fucking what?!" Ginny's eyebrows shot up. "Harry, if this is some kind of weird joke..."

"Oh, yes, because depressed little Potter's such a barrel of laughs since the war, isn't he?" said the ghost mockingly - and again, his target didn't react.

Instead, her pretty green eyes stayed fixed on Harry in confusion, oblivious to the direction of his own gaze.

"It's not a joke, Gin, he's really here!" Harry gasped. "Why would I - how would it be a joke?! I'm-"

"Harry... who do you mean is here?" his girlfriend asked slowly. She decided to humour the boy; after all, Harry's mental health had appeared to take a turn for the worse recently and she didn't want to set him off.

"Draco Malfoy!!" he replied in amazement. "It's Draco- can't you see him?! Oh my god, Gin, he's right there, I swear-"

"Ok, Harry," she placed a soft, reassuring hand on his arm. "Ok. Fine. Why don't we just go through to the living room for a sec, maybe think about calling Summertown and asking if Annie's around-"

"No!" Harry snapped. It came out much louder than he intended, and they both jumped. "No," he said again, quieter. "I don't need Annie, or anyone else. I know what I can see. Oh my God."

Malfoy's face loomed above him, laughing cruelly. "It's just like everyone else!" he gloated, kicking off one wall to pose dramatically against the other. "Oh, God, this is brilliant. She can't see me, Potter! It's only you!"

"It can't be only me," said Harry desperately. "Gin, please - please, Ginny, just look-"

"Ok, Harry," she replied gently. "I'm sure he's here. Ok? Don't upset yourself, love, let's get you a glass of water - or something stronger, maybe? Would you like something stronger? I'm not sure what spirits we have in the cupboard-"

At the word 'spirits', Draco erupted into delirious laughter. "It's more about what spirits you have in your kitchen, you stupid bitch!" he crowed, and Harry winced at the language.

"Don't ever use that disgusting word again!" he snapped towards the ceiling.

"What word, Harry?" Ginny frowned, her concern deepening by the second. "Cupboard?"

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