A Strength, and a Life and a Power in Me (Idris)

[Cait Sayer]

With January ending, Cait knew it would probably be safer to attempt to go back Idris’ office and start playing with his stuff again. Especially with the students back, he’d most likely be teaching – no, she knew his timetable, she knew he was. Perfect opportunity. As fun as it was to mess up his stuff when he was there, with him scowling and reprimanding her for pushing precious books off of his shelves, it was equally amusing to see his face as he saw the damage she had inflicted without him around. Sometimes she didn’t know quite which she preferred, considering both were equally as satisfying.

Having been playing the avoiding game for the last month or so, she thought it was about time she made her presence felt. Now she just had to decide on what it was she could do, that would really wind him up. Moving his journal tended to make him flip quite a bit, as did hiding his whiskey, or anything he held at great value. A lot of things made the guy flip out at her, she often got asked by students, when she spoke to them, why she bothered with him; she simply knew nothing else. He’d pretty much been her only friend in school and life without him, to her, seemed incomprehendable.

She made a plan, and she finally leave the Hufflepuff common room, and surrounding area in favour of pissing off somebody who once could have been referred to as her lover. He probably still would be, if she wasn’t, sort of, dead. She could taunt him still, if she really put her mind to it, and touch him with great concentration. But it wasn’t a good look, so she kept to pushing things off shelves if she wanted to touch things. And where was the fun in touching somebody when they try and place a hand on your cheek and it goes straight through you? Mood killer.

There was only a certain number of times you could walk through a wall, and get a thrill. So many times you could stand in the middle of a pile of papers somebody was trying to mark before they started to ignore you and write in you. There was only a certain number of times you could put your hand through one of their warm drinks to piss them off. Some things never got old, like popping from one side of the castle to the other in the space of a second. Screw disapparation, Cait didn’t need a wand to teleport; at least that is what it felt like.

She felt like doing so now, even with the slightly nauseated feeling she had in her head, it soon passed so it seemed like a good idea again. It didn’t take a second’s thought, usually. She just thought of the place she wanted to go, and ended up there. Great fun, when haunting people in the middle of the night, or for scaring Abraham. This time she didn’t move. She didn’t appear in Idris’ office, not like she thought she would. She was still stood in the corridor outside of the Hufflepuff Common Room.

She frowned. She’d been able to make herself appear in Abe’s office not long ago, why couldn’t she do it now? Thinking nothing of it, she decided that the walk could probably do her some good, though it wasn’t like she had to keep fit, she was destined to be seventeen forever. Never aging, never living, never touching. Walking seemed kind of trivial now. She thought of his office once again, but still remained stationary.

Maybe the professors had finally had enough of her appearing on them and set up some sort of boundary against her. She shrugged it off; it was only a matter of time anyway. She float-walked up the corridor and in the direction of Idris’ office. At the end of the corridor others would have to turn left or right to carry on their journey, Cait could go straight through. Being a ghost was helpful sometimes.

She reached the wall and headed straight for it, without flinching. Without hardly thinking about it. It was a way of life for her now. So it came to a bit of surprise when she couldn’t go through it. She was a ghost, walking through walls was, like, a law, or something. After groaning and stumbling back a few steps, Cait rubbed her foot, a somewhat comical action to see from a ghost and headed for the wall again.

Again, she thundered into it. She knew she was accident prone but this was a joke! She was meant to be able to go through walls! There shouldn’t be a question about it! The greater force that she had hit the wall with this time had knocked her down to the floor. Reflex told her to put her hands out to soften the blow, but in all honesty she had expected to fall through the floor. Then the hardness of the stone collided with her coaxes, and her hands when slamming into the floor, and the scuffing feeling on her hands was one she had been used to as a human, it meant she’d grazed them, again.

”Fuck!” she exclaimed loudly, her cries ricocheting off of the walls around her. She squinted, not quite understanding why the hell she couldn’t go through things. Bringing her hands in front of her face she didn’t see what she was expecting. Gone were her ghostly translucent grey hands. In their place her small palms were slightly dusted with the crap from the floor and the skin slightly battered. She looked down, her top was no longer a silver piece of see through material, more of the pale blue it had once been and opaque. Her eyes went wide, she mouthed a silent ‘Oh my God,’ to nobody in particular. And raised her hand to her face, she could feel herself, she didn’t feel particularly warm, or cold, just sort of a static medium.

She dry swallowed and jumped off of the floor. This was too good to be true, she couldn’t be alive, could she? She ran to the nearest toilets, which were thankfully empty, and found herself stationary as she saw herself reflected in the mirrors, full of colour. She frowned, this was just odd. She wasn’t alive, she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel any different to how she had five minutes ago, albeit slightly out of breath. She fumbled around to find her pulse in her neck, there was nothing.

What the hell was she?

She was dead, but she wasn’t a ghost? Is that it? Was she still going to be seventeen forever, just in a slightly more solid state? Or was she just breathing too hard to be able to find a pulse? But she was breathing? Wasn’t she? It wasn’t just something she was doing for the sake of it, breath was passing her lips. It all made her feel a bit light headed.

Then all thoughts of explaining the situation left her. She didn’t want to know, she could touch things, she could feel. She wasn’t going to stand about and try and figure out why, she had people to see, and rooms to rearrange. And new clothing to acquire.

Maybe that should be first on her list of things to do? But she had no money. So Hogsmeade was out. She’d just have to hijack it from somewhere else. A few understanding Hufflepuffs wouldn’t mind, they probably wouldn’t even notice. It was a plan, a different one to the one that involved rearranging Professor Argall’s office, but one that would lead her to a life without having to live in her pyjamas any longer. The thought of it brought a smile to her face. She no longer had to walk around like the twat that died in her pyjamas.

Screw explanations, new clothes. That was exciting.

Of all the feelings that one should be going through in this moments, glee about new clothing probably wouldn’t be the priority on somebody’s list, but she had just spent the last thirteen plus years wearing the same damned thing, she’d be doomed to hell if her girly instinct didn’t tell her to adorn something flattering; especially if she was going to be haunting Idris some more, she at least wanted to look good so he didn’t feel quite so easily able to actually kill her for touching his stuff.

Her thoughts lead to him, and his reaction as she mumbled the Hufflepuff password. Some portraits had questioned her on the way down the corridor but she’d been too deep in thought to realise. Would he be happy to see her? Would the shock of it kill him before he got to react? At least she’d get to find out, finally, if he’d curse her or kiss her. Something they’d often argued about in the past. She liked to think that he would put anything aside and make up for the last 13 years they’d lost, but chances were he’d just have a go at her for screwing with him. It wasn’t like this had been a choice she’d made.

She put the thoughts to the back of her mind as she decided on who’s clothing to raid. The seventh years were all bigger than her, so the sixth year’s would probably be better. As far as she was aware they were all in lessons now, so stealing her pick wouldn’t be a problem. One thing she wanted, was a hoodie. A nice big one that she could sink into, it wasn’t the warmest of places in the castle. But it wouldn’t be the most flattering thing to present yourself in after thirteen years of pyjamas.

She didn’t really have the time to try on all of the different pairs of jeans she was bound to find in the one room, so she chose the one girl who she knew would probably fit her, and stole those. Quickly changing into them and finding that they were that little bit too long, but she didn’t care, they were jeans! She pilfered through the array of tops the girl had and didn’t find a single one she thought would look good. So decided on going for the next case. Chances were Abe would had a ‘stern word’ with her about this afterwards, but she didn’t care. They could have their clothes back once she’d gotten her own.

God, where was she going to stay? She looked like the seventh year she once was, but mentally she didn’t feel like it. Mentally she was the thirty year old she should now have been. Would they try and make her take her exams? Was she going to have to get a wand? All these stupid trivial questions entered her head as she searched for some more to wear. She could have kept the blue top she had, but she’d lived in it for thirteen years, it was time for something different. Finally she found a royal purple polo shirt that she could wear, and a long sleeved white top to go underneath it, to keep her a little warmer. She hi-jacked some socks, already having stolen other underwear, and now had to find some shoes. Her feet were pretty small compared to most, so finding her size in the sixth years room had proven impossible. The third years it was.

She found a battered pair of converse rather easily upon entering the room. Thirteen years of slippers, that had been one of the causes of your death, and anything was favourable! Once she was done she slowly crept into the main common room, it had a few people in, it would be impossible to get passed them without being seen, so she just walk, inconspicuously out. She carried on, pulling her hair over one shoulder and fixing it into place with a hair tie she had taken from the sixth years.

Now she had clothing she could do what it was she had intended in the first place. No more questioning why the hell it had happened, if it wasn’t going to last she wasn’t about to waste it asking questions. She knew Idris would ask them later, so she’d leave it to him to worry.

Chances were, on the way to Idris’ office, Cait would have caused quite a stir. She hadn’t spoken to anyone, just kept her head down and headed towards familiar ground. It was odd having to take the corridors instead of just appearing or walking through walls, so it took her a while longer than it probably should have to find the office she knew so well, but once she was there, she smiled to herself, it was locked. Just like she knew it would be. Muggle tricks came into use sometimes. She pulled one of her hair pins she’d acquired out of her hair, looking around, she started to work.

When it clicked, she grinned to herself, thirteen years and she still hadn’t forgotten how to do it. Looking quickly up and down the corridor, noting it was empty she slipped into his office, leaving it unlocked behind her. Looking for the time she saw she only had ten minutes to get to work. Had the rest of her time really disappeared that easily? She shrugged it off and made a move toward his desk. She was going to turn his room around a bit, but she didn’t really have the time, plus, there was always that niggling chance that he might actually kill her.

Looking at the room, she knew exactly what she could do. The guy liked order, no, liked wasn’t enough to describe how ordered he was! His tea cup sat, tea still in it, in its usual spot on the right hand side of the desk. She put it to the left. There were a pile of marked and unmarked papers on their respective sides of the desk, she changed them over. The two top draws of his desk she switched, she would have done the bottom two as well, but one of them remained forever locked. One day she was going to find out what was in there, but if it had taken her so long to figure it out, it sure as hell was going to take her a bit longer. She looked around, was there anything else she could move? Not really.

She grabbed a book from the bookshelf and took a seat in his desk chair, propping her feet on the desk, atop one of the piles of papers. Before she settled down she bought her hair over her shoulder and opened the book to a random page. Now all she had to do is wait, and with a perfect view of the door.

[alsa]

January. Idris both hated January with a passion he usually reserved for the bastards who tried to see him fail, and welcomed it with the love one would reserve for a wife. The beginning was always harsh, so close to the Christmas and his birthday, both lonely and miserable affairs that were usually spent in a drunken stupor beside the fireplace, Firewhiskey in one hand and the other casually petting his loyal and only companion, Gary, as the Crup slept beside the glowing embers. If people thought he was cranky during the rest of the school year, they learnt how truly extreme his moods could range during this time, if he was seen out of his quarters at all. Aside from feeding the animals in his care, the entire Christmas break was spent moping by himself, hissing and hexing anyone who even tried to pull him out of his funk. No one really bothered any more, not that he could blame them; he was perfectly foul to them, unleashing a fury he'd only ever seen rivalled by his own father rather early on in his youth when the man's shares in some stocks had taken a horrific nose dive.

Probably one of the best and worst parts of the time leading to and away from Christmas, however, was the fact that he didn't see Cait for even a moment for the entire period. As much as he missed her, seeing her day in, day out made him utterly miserable and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to quit the castle and avoid her ghost completely. Knowing even a remnant of her being remained was both a blessing and a curse to him. He'd never forget her voice, her face, her personality but he'd also never be able to hold her, tell her he loved her without sounding like a complete lunatic. And yes, believe it or not, he did actually love her. It didn't stop her driving him absolutely barmy and yes, sometimes he did wonder if he wouldn't have just throttled her to death had she not already died, but he knew the answer deep down. He wouldn't have. He'd have just argued, it was what they were always good at. But Christmas brought a severe lack of Cait. He could pretend that he was sixteen, that Cait was at home with her parents and he with his father, hiding in his room as he read before going down to greet him in the morning. Or he could pretend she was actually dead, one of his more morbid fantasies, that she had been put to rest years ago and that he'd moved on with his life, maybe found someone new, that he had kids waiting to come and drag him out of bed for the morning festivities. All ideas quickly died as violent a death as the girl in question had, and he was brought back to harsh reality.

The middle of January meant Idris had to emerge from the depths of the school and begin dealing with the headache that was students once more. Lessons in this part of the year were probably everyone's favourite, as he had a tendency to just chuck a Flobberworm at everyone and tell them that their project was to keep it alive. Older years were simply given chapters to read and essays to write, none of which he marked for a good few weeks after they were handed in. He was in a transition phase, still trying to shake off the remnants of grief that seemed to take a new hold every year, that little bit harder to shake off with each passing Christmas, and he had to learn how to be at least socially acceptable when interacting with other people once more. He had practised on Abe in previous years, but this year he was still too miserable and slightly drunk to even seek out the help of the slightly younger professor, instead choosing to soldier on and do his best to try and deal with it alone. Maybe it was a sign of him strengthening finally, a sign of progress against the misery that he shouldn't have let take such a hold of him, or maybe he was finally giving up and accepting that he'd always be that miserable, that there was nothing anyone else could do to aid him and that he ought to just hide until it was all over. He'd often wondered during his yearly sojourns into his chambers just why McGonagall put up with his behaviour; he knew that in other circumstances, he'd have long been out on his backside in the cold, and yet he'd never gained a satisfactory answer. It was just one of those odd little quirks in life, he supposed.

The end of January was almost a relief, bringing with it a light at the end of the tunnel, if you will. Idris had coped with a full month of his own mind and was able to function within his normal parameters, still considered a perfectly horrible example of the human race to most people, but it was enough. Flobberworms were gathered back (the few that ever survived, the poor creatures) and essays were marked, handed back with some despair and handed back in, rewritten and just as obviously copied off one another as they were the first time around. Sometimes the Welshman wondered if the students actually listened to a word he said in class, or if everything really did go in one ear and out the other. Nonetheless, it had to be done, had to be repeated and if they didn't take heed of his words, well, he wouldn't be the one failing Care of Magical Creatures, would he? He could only guide the idiots – he meant students, honest; he couldn't force them to take in the things he told them, to make them take notes and such.

Today, however, Idris was beginning to wonder if sinking into the depths of his bedroom was really as bad as everyone else made it out to be. Fourth years were truly the most appalling of students at the best of times, slightly overconfident because they'd already been doing the course for one year, but still too unskilled to actually do anything without some reasonable supervision. Only three of the twenty nine Flobberworms he'd handed out at the beginning of term had survived their captivity and were now back in his care, something Idris felt quite horrible about. Every year he sacrificed the noble little creatures to these heathens and every year he vowed he wouldn't do so the following one. It was a tradition, almost. Still, he wasn't quite certain if that was better or worse than the state the students had gotten into over the Hippogriff he'd finally been given permission to show them. He hadn't anticipated that one of the foolhardy Gryffindors would think themselves brave enough to go up to the damn creature when he'd specifically told them not to (or was that perhaps that absurd house rivalry coming in to play once more? Or was it simply that he wasn't fearsome enough to command their respect any more?), and in a rather spectacular repeat performance to an event many years before the child's time, the Gryffindor very nearly lost his arm. A Stunning spell and some quick reactions from Idris had been all that was needed to ensure the child hadn't been hurt, but there was no way he'd be keeping the child on the course now. It was bad enough that he was going to have to go through a review on his conduct in class to prove he hadn't been negligent; he honestly hadn't been, he had seen the child run in and reacted as quickly as he could. He'd even been sober and everything.

Nevertheless, Idris had called the class to an end for the day and was thankful to find he had no other lessons to deal with. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to handle it, if he was being perfectly honest. Was he really cut out for this teaching malarky, or was it all just pointless? Maybe he should just hand in his resignation while he had a chance to leave in a dignified manner, retire to his rarely seen childhood home and see what lay in store for him there. He was sure he could get it back into some state of repair, after having left it unused for the last ten years, and who knew? Maybe he could make it into a magical animal sanctuary or something along those lines? Merlin knew that it was about the only thing he'd be any good at. He shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts, finally removing himself from the edge of the Hippogriff paddock, glancing once more at the noble creature within and giving it a deep bow in apology for his earlier actions. No response but a haughty glare and a faint shifting of its wings. Oh, he was going to have difficulty regaining the trust of that bird, wasn't he? Sighing, he left to see to his other duties; the feeding of the Thestrals was in order for the day and dragging the several carcasses out towards their general habitat was unpleasant and gruelling work. Even with the aid of magic, Idris would be unable to take more than two of the dead goats with him at a time and besides, he preferred to do it manually. It gave him a chance to distract himself, to stop thinking about the outside world for a few hours and just appreciate the world around him, the creatures he enjoyed spending so much time with.

The Thestrals fed, Idris trudged back towards the castle, ignoring the calls from a few students with questions on their homework. He'd simply pretend he hadn't heard them, stalking his way back indoors. He was filthy, covered in mud, grass and the bodily fluids of dead animals; why would he want to stop and talk? As he walked through the halls to his chambers, though, he began hearing confused voices, complaints from the loyal Hufflepuffs (what the hell was a Hufflepuff anyway?, he asked himself as he stalked past a gaggle complaining that their clothes had been rummaged through). They were always moaning for some reason or another and he paid no more attention to the brats, instead jumping into the shower found within his quarters and having a quick wash, getting the day's hard work off him and slipping into some fresh, clean clothes. He basked in the delight of being clean for a few minutes, the more OCD parts of his being relieved to finally be rid of the dirt and grime that came with his occupation, before deciding he really ought to go and mark some of the papers he'd yet to even have a look at.

The halls seemed even more abuzz as he climbed up out of the dungeons, heading up towards his office. The Hufflepuffs seemed to have grown in number, masses out searching for lost items that had no right to be in the rest of the building, the other houses merely trying to figure out what their yellow clad fellows were bloody going on about. Even the portraits seemed to be more talkative than usual, flitting from scene to scene as if passing on some kind of vital information. Despite his curiosity at the scene, he continued on without giving in to temptation and eventually found himself at his office, only after giving one stubborn brat a week's detention for crawling on all fours in the halls and making Idris trip over him. He didn't care that the child's shoes had vanished from their dormitory, nor that they thought maybe Peeves had hidden them somewhere outside the Hufflepuff common room; she still shouldn't be getting in other people's ways and making herself an accident waiting to happen. Just like Cait had been.

Sighing a breath of relief, Idris grabbed the handle, only to find the usually locked door shifted forward when he put pressure upon it. It had never been the most reliable thing to stay shut, hence the main reason he kept the damn thing locked, and to find it open was not only unnerving but annoying as fuck. He only knew of two people who would dare risk his anger on such a matter, and technically only one was really a person - Abe and Cait. How she managed it in her ghostly form, he'd never quite understood – he speculated she was actually a poltergeist at times, but never really brought it up because she had a tendency to get a bit touchy about the term. Why should he care, she was only an imprint of a girl who died anyway. Besides, it was only a theory. He braced himself, took in a deep breath and prayed to whomever was listening that his office wouldn't be too trashed today, as he really wasn't in the mood to be arguing with his long dead former girlfriend or with his fellow professor, and he certainly wasn't feeling up to cleaning up the mess he was sure wait behind the wooden blockade.

Deciding it was time to get it over with already, Idris shoved open the door and was initially surprised to find the floor before him perfectly clear of mess. Well, that was a pleasant surprise for a change. Sure, it could probably do with a bit of a clean, but there were no papers, no books, no ink pots splattered across the floor as he'd expected. His next glance was to the walls; no, his books were on the shelves still, in perfect order, his treasured copy and final present from his father safely tucked away on the end of a shelf. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of something blonde and purple, and his gaze shifted to his desk, immediately affixed with a glare. His initial reaction was to be angry at what he presumed was a student, noting the shifted coffee mug, the moved papers, the book held within her hands. But moving from the petite digits, too small compared to most teenagers, his gaze shifted upwards over the feet on his desk, over the book and to a face at once both familiar and so foreign to his mind. Gone was the silvery pallor that marked the fact she was dead; disappeared were the pyjamas that she donned every day for the last thirteen years.

Cait Sayer was sat in his office, feet propped up on his desk, appearing for all intents and purposes to be alive.

Idris was momentarily too stunned to speak, to even move from his spot near the door. All thoughts of reproach immediately dissipated from his head, leaving only a numbing blankness as he struggled desperately for something to say. So many thoughts ran through his head, from briefest hope that the impossible could truly have happened, to disbelief that he could be seeing what he was, to abject fear that he'd finally gone mad, and finally settling on the only emotion that seemed to make any sense at the time. Anger. Anger that someone could think this was even remotely funny. Magic and logic told Idris that this couldn't be Cait, that she was likely floating around in the castle somewhere, biding her time before she chose to bug him again, and that this was just... there weren't words to describe how appalling he found it. He found himself mouthing one word, no breath managing to escape as he tried to say her name. Cait. It... It couldn't be? It wasn't possible. It just...

”What”, he managed to rasp out after what felt like an eternity but was likely only a few moments, viciously icy anger in every word to follow, ”Do you think you're fucking doing?” He was too mad to control his temper and his hand went instantly to his wand, pulling it out. He didn't often feel the need to hex anyone, but for once he thought it wouldn't be uncalled for. ”Because guess what? You're in serious trouble and you're going to wonder why you thought this would be funny very quickly.”

[/blockquote]

[Cait Sayer]

The book she had chosen at random, was very much the dullest thing she could have decided on. She didn’t care about the Blast ended bastards, she’d more scars than she’d care to share from those little cretins. Idris had always found it amusing, how she’d managed to get herself into ridiculous situations and get even stupider injuries from them. Like the time she simultaneously given herself a paper cut and set her sleeve on fire at pretty much the same moment in one potions lesson. Obviously he’d found it hilarious, she had not. She’d nearly broken her record time for the ‘longest time without an injury’ before that incident.

She’d waited longer than she had anticipated for his return, but she hadn’t banked on him having a shower before returning, meaning she’d had to read more of the god forsaken bore than she had intended. But there was some strange novelty to actually being able to read a book. Sure she’d thrown them about before now, but it took far too much effort to actually try and read them, with all the delicate page turning and holding at the same time as trying to take in the words. Now however, she could actually do it, without actually concentrating, and it was exhilarating. Well, kind of. She’d never been much of a reader, she was more of the ‘I’ll do my work later’ type and concentrated on the things she actually liked.

She took a second of her time to smile to herself, although the lake would no longer be safe to skate on, she’d be able to try and get some boots or a board and do it all again. She’d have to relearn every step she’d every learnt. But at least she’d be able to physically do it again. She’d have to take Idris out again, and reinjure every limb in her body, like she knew she would.

She saw the handle of the door move in the corner of her eye, but she tried to ignore it. It seemed like a lifetime between the slight movement and the door opening. She kept her eyes on the pages of the book. She could feel him staring at her, so she swallowed, gathering all her courage and looked up at him. She didn’t know if smiling was too far, so she just remained straight faced and calm. A small twitch of a smile came across her as she watched him mouth her name. She just wanted to stand up and basically throw herself at him, but she knew at this moment in time, it wasn’t likely to be well received.

So she just sat and stared him down. To put it lightly, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

”I’m reading,” she managed to state, her mouth suddenly far too dry, her nerves far too high to manage much more. A few seconds of trying to gather her composure she looked at the book in her hands, placing it softly on the table and removing her feet from it, ”I,” she started again, keeping her gaze to her hands, ”I’m not laughing,” she finally said, looking up to him, chewing on the side of her lip. Any other time and she’d have laughed at him, but now was not the time, make him feel better perhaps, but it would just have to wait. Eventually, she knew he’d laugh at her for walking into walls and injuring herself just as she had always done. Now, however, it was probably best to just remain quiet.

[alsa]

Idris couldn't help but stare or rather, in this case, glare at the young woman sitting at the desk before him. He honestly couldn't comprehend the situation with any degree of coherence for a few moments, but when his mind started to tick over once more, it was rather obvious he was getting angry. His initial instinct was to withdraw the hipflask from his side, take a large swig and then leave the room, securely locking the door with magic until such a time as he could get the headmistress down there to deal with the situation for him. He was feeling faint enough at seeing a flesh and blood Cait as it was, without thinking about what he'd do once she'd gone again. Because it couldn't be real, could it? She'd died. Her body was rotting in a grave somewhere, her ghost floating around the castle. It wasn't like a ghost could gain a human body, now, was it? He quashed this immediate desire to run away and hide with his metaphorical tail between his legs, however. Because that was it. This was just the final straw. He'd been mocked, dealt with his own guilt on a daily basis and put up with rumours for god knows how long. Even without working in the school, he'd been stalked by whispers that he'd committed murder. How was a man supposed to get a job when people couldn't keep false gossip to themselves? But this was just taking it too far. There was a joke, there was mockery and then there was fucking with the dead, and Idris was damned if he was going to deal with this any more.

If he'd taken a moment and thought about it, he'd have been aware that he wasn't fully thinking straight. The only question would have been if he'd cared.

He practically snarled at the petite blonde girl before him, heart aching slightly at the sight of Cait with fresh pink cheeks, golden locks and out of her pyjamas, sitting there as though she owned the place. She looked so completely at home, and all it did was serve to make Idris more angry. He slammed the door behind him, not wanting some nosey first year to come gawking whilst he likely throttled this impersonator, and took a few steps forward, wand raised menacingly. “Bad answer. Try again,” he hissed, only really wanting to wake up. This had to be a nightmare, because it sure as hell scared the life out of him. He paused in his move over to the desk as the girl chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous gesture he was so used to seeing from her... But he was being ridiculous, plenty of people had just such a nervous gesture. He couldn't let her get to him. If she kept this up, he'd end up in the corner, breaking down mentally and screaming to himself probably. Better than what he felt like doing, but at least one decent thing would come from his current anger – the rumours wouldn't be quite so inaccurate this time around.

“I didn't ask if you were fucking laughing,” he growled threateningly, voice low and cold like the serpent that depicted his house. He finished crossing the expanse of the room and all but shoved his wand under the impersonator's face, tilting her chin up with the wepon, and he learnt two things in the moment that he did so. Firstly, that whatever the spell or potion they'd used for this task, the student had done a particularly stunning job, the glamour or copy of Cait's features every bit as lovely as he always remembered. Secondly, that despite his intentions to at least scare this imposter into giving up their companions, he didn't think he'd actually be able to go through being able to use harm if necessary, which he'd originally decided sounded like a damn good idea. Not unless he could find a way to end the spell first, because otherwise he'd be unable to do anything but think about how he'd be hurting Cait, and he couldn't go through with such a thing. “I'm telling you that you're going to regret this. Now end and tell me who helped you, and maybe I'll actually turn you over to McGonagall for punishment rather than dishing it out myself. And trust me,” he lied through his teeth, still angry enough to be convincing to anyone who didn't know him well. “You don't want to know what I have planned if that happens.”

[Cait Sayer]

Cait would normally be one for cracking jokes at Idris’ bad moods, when his hands would pass through her, at any rate. Now was another matter altogether, no wonder the students were scared of him! She couldn’t help but shrink down in his seat to try and hide from his glare, make herself as small as possible to get away from it. She’d never felt so small before, and, for once, she wasn’t trying to wind him up. She was here to show him she was back. If only he’d give her a chance. But after thirteen years of playing these games with him, he wasn’t about to believe her when she was being serious. Like the boy would cried wolf. Only she’d never pretended to be corporeal before. Sure she would pick things up and throw them around but it took too much concentration. She knew some people thought she was some sort of Poltergeist, but please, Peeves had nothing on herm annoying rat faced arse.

She shrunk back more when he acted towards her. Violence never got anybody anywhere, but in this mood he wouldn’t be above it. She’d never been scared of him before, but with the force at which he slammed the door, she flinched. Now she knew this had become more than a private matter, it also made it a more dangerous situation. She stared at a spot on the cold stone floor, her breathing shaky, it was hard not to break down and cry. She couldn’t even lift her gaze when he approached her, she saw the flash of his wand in the corner of her eye. Typical male, just wants a little more power and whips their wands out for everything. And talk about unfair, she wasn’t even armed. God, that was another thing she’d have to sort out: a wand. Clothes first, naturally. And money, money would be good. Though staying alive right now was a priority.


”This isn’t some fucking joke, Idris!” she snapped, looking up at him. A mistake she soon realised when his wand was forced under her chin. If only he’d believe her, not that she was lying, but he believed this to be all some kind of sick joke. The likeness only came because she was his Cait. Somewhere she knew, deep down, that he would never hurt her. With her chin up and facing him she could see him studying her face, how could he not see it? She blinked, she didn’t want to cry, but he was making it kind of hard. She clenched her jaw, acting a lot tougher than she currently felt, ”And I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything!” she managed, a shaky breath escaping from her lips. She glared now, just trying to prove her point, she had to try everything to prove that it was her, being a stubborn idiot was part of who she had been, which was probably why she was a ghost, unable to let go, that was her. Was. Had been. Not anymore.

“You want me to end it? You want me to be a ghost for the rest of your life? Look but don’t touch? And what would you do to me anyway? Hmm?” she pushed up out of his desk chair away from his wand. She took a hold of the end of his wand, just so he couldn’t put it in her face again, ”You can’t accept it, it’s too much for you to see me standing here. You can’t even bring yourself to touch me,” she slid her hand up the wooden stick between them, clasping her fingers around his. She looked him in the eye, the look begging him to believe her, ”You think it’s hard for you?” she asked, her voice low, ”Try walking into a wall, grazing your hands and near breaking your toe after thirteen years!” she tried not to laugh but it was too funny not to allow herself to briefly smile, ”I know it’s hard for you to believe, but please,” she begged, ”I can’t do this without you.”

[alsa]

Idris was past the point of hopeless belief, of hoping that something he clearly thought of as a practical joke gone too far could ever be real. At no point in the whole of recorded history had a ghost come back from the dead, gained a form of flesh and blood once more and returned to their life before. Was it so ridiculous for him to not even think in those first few moments that it could possibly be his Cait? The one he'd been so annoyed at working with in his first few years at school, the one he'd come to fret over and provoke to do her homework, whom he'd come to... well, love? The one he'd found in a bath, face down and soaked through, limp in his arms whilst floating and mocking him just as she always had at the exact same moment? The one who rearranged his damn desk to piss him off more times than he could count? He happened to catch just that as he stormed towards the pretty blonde imposter, years of perfect organisation easily noticeable to his slightly obsessive eye. A small, still rational part of his mind applauded the ingenuity of the girl before him. The desk had been a very Cait-like thing to do, or perhaps she'd waited until Cait had actually done just that. But then surely the ghost would have stuck around? No, the girl he fasted approached must have been the culprit. He had to give her brownie points for effort, but alas such thoughts were predominately lost in his anger.

The Welshman felt a perverse sense of satisfaction as the young woman shrank back from him, fear evident in her features. A pang of pain ran through him like lightning, to see such fear in Cait's face of all people, but he not-so-easily reminded himself – he wasn't seventeen any more and Cait wasn't around. Still, it was hard. The closer he got, the more obvious it became just how much effort had been put into whatever little glamour had been cast. Someone had been paying attention to the silvery girl as she floated through the school, spent a lot of time studying her features, but that didn't explain how they'd matched her sunny complexion, nor the bizarre shade of Gillyweed that was her eyes. “Don't call me that,” he snarled, oblivious to her own inner struggle over the situation. “Fine, who cast it on you? What spell did you use?” Idris snapped, accent hitting heavier with every word as his temper increased. He waved his wand, muttering a counter charm for glamours but nothing happened. He frowned, confused, and cast it again but nothing once more. He scowled. “Potions, then?” Not that he knew any that could make such a replica, other than Polyjuice, but that wouldn't be possible, would it? Even if they'd managed to access any hairs from her person (and by Salazar Slytherin himself, Idris didn't want to start thinking about how they'd have managed that), it would have been too decayed for any such potion.

The petite teenager was bold, he had to give her that, as she shoved herself out of the chair and grabbed his wand, a brave move. He was unable to stop the surprise from crossing his face for the briefest of moments, but quickly tried to regain the upper hand once more. His mind was tearing through the possibilities, for how Cait's double could possibly be standing in front of him in that moment and was driving himself frantic in his attempts. Her words were doing nothing to aid what little sense he had remaining from unravelling either. “Accept it?” he asked, voice breaking a little as sheer hysteria began to set in. “Accept it? It's not even fucking possible, that's why I can't bloody accept it!” He was shouting now, rather louder than he intended but unable to control it. It seemed even a replica of Cait had the ability to make him lose his usually fairly intact decorum. She was right though – he wasn't going to touch her. He couldn't bring himself to even grab her wrist and drag her to the headmistress's office, let alone do anything else. Even her hand as close as it was to his at that moment was too much for him and he wrenched his wand out of her grasp, dropping it to his side. The sincerity in her voice was hard to hear and if he hadn't known better, he would quite possibly have dropped everything and clung to her like his life depended on it. But he did know better and he was close to breaking point with every word. “Just stop it! She's dead. DEAD. I know this, everyone fucking knows this!” he yelled, unable to even use her name in that moment. He was likely turning slightly red by this point, yet he wasn't moving a muscle despite how tense he was. “So just drop it! You've had your fucking laugh, well done, you've made your teacher flip at you. Congratulations!”

And in that moment, as she asked him to help her, he realised something. There wasn't anything that was possibly going to be capable of doing this to a person; this kind of transformation. But what did that leave? What... what the fuck was going on?

[Abraham Grey]

What a day. Abe normally employed an open door policy, knowing that when dealing with students as timid as the Hufflepuffs could be it was never a good idea to shut them out or they might never return. Not to mention having a nice little chat with August or Louis or hell even Finlay was always a welcome distraction from the never ending pile of marking he had on his desk and the surrounding floor. But today had been a nightmare, Abe returning from teaching a fifth year class only to find an ever growing queue of Hufflepuffs waiting outside his office, the air buzzing with their whispers.

After convincing the fifth consecutive Hufflepuff that it was highly unlikely that anybody had broken into the common room just to steal some of their clothing he decided he’d had enough. Abe intercepted the next concerned student at the door and chivvied them out again, assuring all the remaining students that he was going straight to Professor McGonagall to discuss the very serious issue of security with her. In reality Abe was fairly convinced his house had worked themselves up into a fuss about nothing and he was heading in the direction of Professor Argall’s office instead. It had been a while since he’d spent any time with (or gotten drunk with) the Slytherin Head of House and quite frankly he was sick of the man being grumpy and antisocial. What reason did Abe have to have a drink otherwise?

He didn’t bother to knock as he reached his fellow professor’s office, knowing that either the door would be locked because Idris was busy with some probably detestable magical creature or he would be there and barging in would piss the man off. ”Argall, you miserable bastard,” Abe said by way of friendly introduction. ”You can’t just-.” He cut himself off as he spotted Argall crowding over somebody blocked from view. That was new, while he was perfectly aware of how foul tempered the Slytherin Head of House could be, especially in the time around Christmas, he’d never resorted to physically intimidating a student before.

”Merlin Argall, what the hell is wrong with you?” Abe asked, quickly crossing the room to intervene. He grabbed Idris’s elbow, dragging him away from the likely terrified student a step or two before he realised exactly who it was. ”Cait?” His hand dropped from the professor’s arm as he realised any curse Idris might send her way would just pass through her and was likely deserved anyway. ”What did you do this time?” Just what he needed, an evening spent with the two of them exchanging snippy comments about each other. Still, at least it was better than the stony silence they normally resorted to over the Christmas period.

He stood, crossing his arms and tapping his foot (his best impression of an impatient and imposing teacher) as he waited for Cait to answer. If Abe hadn’t been so used to this very exchange being repeated between the two of them on a weekly basis he might have been paying more attention. He might have noticed the tension in the air. He might have noticed that the colour had drained almost entirely from Idris’s cheeks and that his eyes were wide and wild. He might have noticed that he couldn’t see through Cait, that her hair was a vibrant blonde, her eyes were a dark green and her lips were rosy pink. Not to mention she wasn’t wearing her usual outfit of pajamas. As it was a feeling of unease rushed over him, which he dismissed as stress about his rather frantic Hufflepuffs.

[Cait Sayer]

Cait very nearly laughed out loud again, if she couldn’t refer to him by name, what could she call him? She could revert back to her childhood names, but it would probably just break him more, on second thoughts, ”What would you prefer, Professor?” she asked, ”Stalker boy?” if he could get in her face and shout at her, by God she could do that same. ”I didn’t use anything! I don’t know who did this to me!” she rolled her eyes at his non-belief, ”If I didn’t do anything, I hardly took a potion. I haven’t drunk a single drop since I had a cup of tea with my breakfast thirteen years ago. Unless you care to count the water that filled by lungs and killed me. Or have you forgotten pulling me out of the water. I sure as hell haven’t! I was walking through walls, now I’m not!” Frustrated, she shoved her hand through her fringe and pushing it out of her face.

”How do you know it’s not possible? Just because you’ve never seen it before. Just because it’s never happened before doesn’t make it impossible. Or is it just because you didn’t think of it first?” she shouted back, finding herself suddenly bolder, only regretting it as he started to shadow over her to shout her down. She shrunk back, tears starting to form in her eyes, she tried to breathe deeply through her nose but every breath she took shook, making it harder for her to hold back the tears. Sure, they’d argued before but never like this. Never before has she thought he would do her any physical harm, maybe now, against her own will, she was pushing him a bit too far.

Cait was so caught up in Idris shouting at her, that she didn’t notice Abraham Grey enter, unaware of the current situation. She only clocked he was there when he pulled Idris back away from her, Thinking he was laying into one of his poor students. For once Cait hadn’t done anything, and she knew nobody would believe her. She tore her gaze from her old lover and looked at her fellow Hufflepuff, “I didn’t do anything,” she said for what felt the thousandth time in the last ten minutes. She was surprised Abe hadn’t noticed how different she was, “I walked into a wall, and apparently it’s my fault,” she said bitterly, looking between her two friends. Two people she’s have thought she could rely on to be on her side, but as it turned out, at least one of them had already gone against her.

She felt like acting like a toddler again, stamping her feet and crying until she got her own way. Not that that would work with Idris, Abe maybe, but she often wondered how tightly she had the younger man wrapped around her little finger. If she said ‘jump’ would he ask her ‘how high?’ Even if he would, would he act that way in front of Idris? Actually, she would question him more if he didn’t make a point of doing it in front of him, rubbing their friendship in his face. ”You have to believe me Abe,” she begged, but she didn’t know if he understood what she was begging him for.

[alsa]

The amount of scorn someone could convey in a single word. Idris had thought he'd mastered the skill, refined it to an art form but nothing could compare to the mocking tone held within that one word, his own job title thrown back in his face. What did this girl want from him? To break down and cry in front of her, tell her that yes, he believed the dead could be brought back to life – truly brought back to life, not the faux existence that was being a ghost, an Inferi or even the life given by the resurrection stone, only a child's tale but carrying so many deeper threats with it – is that what she wanted? Because it wasn't possible. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he'd considered it. Researching ways to bring life to the lifeless, but in the end he realised it had been futile. If it could be done, a greater wizard than he would have done so before and he wasn't going to be the one to prove them wrong. He wasn't skilled enough, he'd admit that in private, in his own mind. Idris made to reply but was cut off by the girl's continuing tirade, which on its own nearly knocked the wind from him. Stalker boy. Merlin, how he'd hated it when Cait had called him that, but it could only be coincidence. He'd never told anyone, or had Cait herself been spreading it? If only one could Accio a ghost, he'd have done so in a heartbeat.

Rage filled Idris once more and he prepared to truly take it out on her this time, to scream his bloody head off if he had to. How dare she accuse him of forgetting a moment of that horrifying day, of not thinking about how it could be changed- Of trying to provoke him into arguing back once more. Idris' mind was a blur of emotion and disbelief, and had Abraham not walked in at that moment and pulled him away, he may just well have screamed with whomever stood nearby for the rest of his days. He hadn't heard Abe come in, his first clue to the other man's presence being a hand on his elbow, pulling him away from his position. He was already feeling wobbly from shock and anger, and he shifted the few steps that allowed Abe to stand between himself and... and her. Whoever she was. He tried to shake off Abe's hand at the same time as the professor dropped it, and quickly the former Slytherin found himself leaning against his desk, head hanging down as he tried to process everything. Not staring straight at this duplicate was allowing his brain to move faster, and it was with far too much effort that he was able to respond to Abe's question.

”I...” he trailed off, mouth dry, licking his lips in a vain attempt to try and find the moisture to speak. Everything was just too surreal, and wasn't that just the answer? It was too unreal to ever have happened, which left only one answer. He was going completely, utterly mental. He'd always suspected it would only be a matter of time before he or the students in the school drove him barmy, possibly with the aid of the ghostly Cait (ghost, ghost, she's a bloody ghost, she's dead!), but he had hoped for a few more years. Quite rational reasoning from someone who thought himself insane, but at that point he wasn't questioning anything that led to such an obvious answer. Idris looked up rather desperately, all fight gone out of him in that moment and exhaustion setting in. He'd just give up and accept it. He could deal with being insane for the rest of his life. It would probably be preferable to his current situation. Still, a small part of himself reached out to Abe, grabbed the sleeve of his fellow professor's robes and asked him. ”Abe,” he muttered, using the not often uttered nickname (at least from Idris' mouth), ”Have I gone completely insane, or is there a living, breathing Cait standing in my office, in front of my chair, yelling at me?”

Without waiting for an answer and ignoring the girl – hallucination? - as she pleaded with the Hufflepuff professor to believe her, he dropped his grasp from Abe's arm and turned around, leaning back against his desk. He didn't need the answer. He already knew. Hell, for all he knew, Abe was a figment of his imagination too. Wasn't it said that the insane thought of their own fantasy worlds as perfectly real, feeling, seeing, thinking and living just as they did in the real world? No, he didn't think he had a good enough imagination to handle all of that. It just had to be her. He was imagining she was standing there and talking to Abe. For the love of Salazar, he'd better be getting some fucking amazing medical potions out of this, else there really would be no gain from hallucinating. Rummaging round in his pockets, he pulled out his hip flask and promptly downed at least half of the remaining contents. Merlin knew he needed it.

[Abraham Grey]

Abe almost scoffed at Cait’s claim of innocence, but the sound caught in his throat, turning into a pathetic little, choking cough as his brain caught up with her second sentence. He might be distracted, resigned to rehashing the same scenes over and over again between the two of them, but he was paying enough attention enough to know that walking into walls wasn’t a normal occurrence for a ghost. Sure he’d heard enough times about Cait’s clumsy nature when Idris had been drunk and particularly nostalgic, but one of the few advantages that being a ghost awarded her was that it was pretty difficult to be accident prone when you could pass through solid objects.

It would be so easy to dismiss her words as a joke, especially knowing her penchant for mischief. But as he looked at her again, really looked this time, he noticed all those little details he’d missed the first time and felt the colour drain from his face to a shade that rivalled Idris’s own deathly pallor. ”How?” He asked, mind racing with questions and finally settling on that simple one. It wasn’t possible, many a wizard must have tried, but there was no way a ghost could become corporeal. How had Cait and Idris done it? And why hadn’t they let him in on the plan?!

He felt the professor tug at his sleeve, took in the rather desperate question and realised Idris was just as confused. No wonder he’d been over-reacting before, it was quite the shock to the system. So Cait had been working alone, the little minx. Abe reached out and poked a finger into her shoulder, still half expecting it to pass straight through, bracing himself for the wash of icy cold that accompanied ghostly contact, but feeling only the resistance of flesh. He’d needed to be sure before he answered, needed confirmation. ”She’s here,” He said slowly, a grin spreading across his features. ”She’s really here.”

Abe turned to Cait, pulling her into a sudden and rather tight hug, likely lifting the petite girl off her feet. He’d never hugged her before, never truly known her until after her death and their contact had been limited to what felt unpleasantly like a freezing shower. ”Merlin Cait,” He didn’t let go as he spoke, until he realised that crushing the newly corporeal girl to death might not be a smart move. Instead he settled for holding her at arm’s length, still marvelling at the feel of her shoulders under his palms. ”A little heads up might have been nice; you nearly gave me a heart attack!”