Gone/Ghost of a Memory
Ghost of a Memory - Chapter 2
By Kinsfire
Ghost of a Memory
Chapter II
That's impossible! It's not Ginny! He shook his head violently. The girl he was talking to was looking at him. "I'm sorry, I missed what you said. I got a bit of a shock. The redhead over there …"
"Hey Megs! Come on over and meet someone!" The redhead grinned and walked over to them.
"Picking up guys again, Amber?" came the bemused question from Harry's vision.
"Not this one. He's taken," the blonde said, pointing at his finger.
"Ooo, who's the lucky woman?" the redhead asked. "By the way, my name is Margaret Nivalis. Amber here gets away with calling me Megs a lot, even though I keep threatening to dock her pay." She looked at him closer and shock filled her eyes. She quickly threw her arm around his waist and led him to a short wall and helped him to sit down. "Are you okay?"
He shook his head again. "I'm sorry, Miss Nivalis. You gave me quite the shock."
"Why?"
"Right down to your voice, you're a …" He snorted as he realized what he was going to say. "You're a dead ringer for my dead wife." He started to chuckle. "She set this up somehow; I know it. That's her sense of humour."
"You look a little out of it, sir," she said. "Think you can make it to my shop? I've got some calming drinks there. Non-alcoholic, so there's no worries there."
He laughed. "Hmm, follow a pretty girl who looks like my dead wife somewhere. Should I or shouldn't I?" He looked down at her. "Lead on, beautiful." She put her arm around his waist again, while he put his arm around her shoulder and smiled at how natural it felt. "Five-foot-one-and-a-half inches tall in stocking feet," he murmured as Amber put her arm around his waist on the other side. "How jealous are the guys in town going to be?" he asked with a laugh.
"Rather," Margaret said with a grin. "They're always trying to get me to agree to a date. Amber at least says yes occasionally. Can I assume that your wife was my height? You just quoted it."
"Yeah. I thought it when I realized how natural it felt to put my arm around you." He stopped for a moment, surprising them. "Please forgive me, Miss Nivalis, if I get too familiar with you. I don't want to fall into patterns with you that I shouldn't. You aren't my wife, even if you look and sound like her. Hell, your hair's too long, for one thing."
She started to walk forward, dragging him with her. "No worries, sir. If you go too far, I'll just slap you," she laughed.
"Use the right cheek, please," he laughed in return. "One of my best friends already tried to fracture my jaw on the left side. By the way, I can't be that much older than you, so both of you please call me Harry. My name is Harry Potter."
"I'll start calling you Harry if you call me Margaret. I'll even accept it if you call me Meg or Megs."
"Correct me if I call you Ginny, though. Please." He was surprised to see her stop short. "What?"
"My middle name is Virginia. Weird."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were someone's idea of a cruel joke on me. How long have you been here in Salem?"
"About three years. Moved here from the Midwest. Kansas. Folks had lived in England, and I guess a little of the accent stuck, because some people keep asking me if I grew up in England."
"Folks still around?"
"No. Died in a really ugly fire a few years ago. Luckily it wasn't the fire that got them; it was the building hitting them as it fell. Dead in an instant." They walked into a store called simply 'Enchantments'. "My rivals in town call this place Molly's Folly, or Meg's Dregs. They're just jealous that my elixirs work when theirs don't." She laughed and sat him in a chair before walking behind the counter. He heard a small refrigerator open, and she came forward with a bottle of pomegranate juice and a tiny vial. "Allergic to pomegranate?" When he shrugged, she did too, which set up some interesting vibrations beneath the dress that Harry was more than willing to watch for a moment. He shook his head again, scowling. "Here, drink this," she said. "It'll calm you down."
Her voice was so like Ginny's that he couldn't help but grin and say, "Yes, dear." He scowled again. Damn it! She's not Ginny, so don't keep acting like she is! He began to drink the pomegranate juice, but stopped suddenly. He knew that undertaste! "Where in hell did you learn to brew a Calming Draught?" he asked.
"A what?" Amber asked.
He shook his head. Damn, I'm so flustered that I'm about to break secrecy! Someone already did, though. I have to follow this one down. It's my job as an Auror. "Who brews these potions … sorry, elixirs for you?"
"I do it myself," Margaret said, looking both worried and angry at the same time.
"Who taught you?" he asked with some interest.
"Se … hmm, I can almost remember their name. Begins with an 'S'." Her pretty brow furrowed.
"Severus?" he asked quietly.
"Could be. Could be Sam, or Serina, or Sethra Lavode, for all I can remember right now. Why is it important?"
"You were taught to make magical potions. I need to know by who."
"Why is it important?" Amber said in a huff. "We're a new age shop. Of course we sell magical things."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out two wands. "Pick a feather, point the wand at it, and say Wingardium Leviosa, Remember to swish and flick," he said, showing her the exact hand movements and handing her the second wand. As he expected, Amber couldn't do anything.
"You act like it was supposed to do something. There's no such thing as flash-bang magic, Harry," she huffed at him again.
"Care to try it, Miss Nivalis?" He handed her the wand that Amber had used. A breeze came up as she took the wand in her hand, and it ruffled her hair. There were … other effects, he noted with some amusement. Ginny always pointed like that, too. "You're her psychic twin, I think. A magical identical twin. Try to lift that feather."
She pointed the wand at a feather and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa." The feather lifted gently from the counter and began to float around the room as she pointed the wand in various directions.
He sat back down, heavily, and his shoulders began to shake. "I can't take this. Why must the gods be so damned cruel?" He began to cry. "Damn it! I said I wasn't going to cry for her again! She wouldn't want that!"
"Cry for yourself then, honey," Meg said as she knelt next to him and put her arms around him. "Let yourself mourn her loss like you've wanted to these past three years. You've lived for her, but you stopped living for yourself. You've wanted to cry for her, but you won't let yourself. Would she want you killing yourself by forcing yourself to be happy?" After a pause, "Did she like it when you lied to her?"
His answer was to sob against her shoulder. He threw his arms around her and began the process of releasing three years worth of sorrow.GoneGhost of a Memory - 1Ghost of a Memory - 2Ghost of a Memory - 3Ghost of a Memory - 4Ghost of a Memory - Epilogue