◤ chapter four: ❛ the sixth sense ❜ ◢

✧

        SHE DECIDED THAT IF ANYTHING, MORGAN WAS NOT HAUNTING HER, BUT HER FATHER'S LETTER WAS. It sat in her truck at the foot of her bed, unopened but pristine, waiting for her, written in elegant script, and she cowered under the weight of what could be hidden in its contents. So, instead of facing the music, she left it and continued with her lessons.

         Morgan laughed, teasing her every time she passed by it, turning over the letter rather than tearing it open, daring her to rip it apart, but instead she pushed it aside in favor of getting her clothes. It stared back at her, waiting. Always waiting. Watching. Patient. It unnerved her.

         "It can't hurt you, you know," the ghost rolled her eyes, "It's not going to grow teeth when you touch it."

         She ignored her, because there were other people in the room and the last thing she needed was her roommates to think that Greer Ainsley had gone mad. The rumors would spread like wildfire and her reputation would be in shambles, which would be terrible for everyone. So, instead, she let Morgan tease her. It brought the ghost glee, at the very least.

         And so the days passed with the letter unopened. Patiently waiting in her trunk as she readied herself for Hogsmeade, smoothing out her jumper and pulling her hair into a bow. It was the epitome of softness and innocence; it was her as an Ainsley. Her father may be a fugitive, but she was innocent, and surely he had to be too, right? That was the story she had to portray for him, the one he was banking on, and it was the image she would dutifully portray for him.

         Nikolai and Carmichael lingered at the end of the stair banister; Nikolai pin-straight while Carmichael was sluggishly flung over the railing. Her footsteps were light on the stairs, dainty as she carried herself down. Carmichael groaned, pulling himself up when he saw her, "Finally. I thought you'd never be ready."

         Nikolai hit him, "Oh, quit it. You know that Greer was not born naturally beautiful; she has to enhance herself."

         He brought his teasing smile towards her, embracing her when she got down to the main level, but she shoved him off. "Say something like that again and I'll hex you."

         "I'd like to see you try."

         Morgan rolled her eyes at the display, floating through Nikolai. Together, they left the Slytherin common room and followed other groups of students from the corridors of Hogwarts to the pathway to Hogsmeade village. It was still early fall, so the weather was brisk but bearable, with leaves crunching beneath their feet in a warm brown or orange and the trees becoming barren, though some still clung to their life.

         "I don't know about you all, but I've got to stop by Spintwitches," Carmichael mentioned about halfway there as they were crossing the bridge. Greer looked down at the lazy flowing water, slowly moving beneath them. In a matter of months, it would be frozen, when all the ground would be covered in snow – that was her favorite time of year. "Temperance wants me to pick up some more equipment for Quidditch practice."

         "Think you're on your own with that, mate," Nikolai clapped his shoulder, "Spintwitches hasn't interested me since second year when I thought I'd give Quidditch a go."

         Carmichael barked a laugh. "Oh, that was a time! You were absolutely terrible as a Chaser!"

         "Keep on laughing and I'll knock you into the river," he threatened.

         "Alright, right," Carmichael threw his hands up in mock surrender.

         "I'm about to run out of quills, so I've got to stop by Scrivenshaft's," Greer broke in, "What about you all?"

         "Nah, I'm all set."

         "Mum has me loaded."

         "Then I'll go by myself."

          "And I'll head to Tomes and Scrolls," Nikolai concluded, "Meet at Honeydukes when we're done?"

         Greer nodded, "I'm good with that."

         They reached Hogsmeade, splitting up for their respective shops. Morgan danced after her, floating closely to Greer than going away to look at the different people. "I'd forgotten about Hogsmeade!" Morgan cheered, "Oh, I used to love weekends here."

         Resolutely, Greer didn't answer her. Moving forward, she continued her path, with Scrivenshaft's in sight, ignoring the cheer from other Hogwarts students. Hogsmeade used to be the light in the darkness; the best part of third year, when this forbidden part of Hogwarts was introduced to students.

         It was the place to break away from school, to let loose and explore, be truly free. Buy whatever you needed, but also whatever you wanted. Go on a date, if anyone asked, but also get a butterbeer and perhaps relax – if just for a minute. Have a piece of chocolate and let it melt against your tongue.

         Now it was the village where Morgan died.

         All the cheer faded, all the wonder gone, all the love and excitement for a weekend her – gone, just like she was. This place was haunted.

         She reached the quill shop, pulling open the door and going straight to what she needed. She didn't intend to stay long, though Morgan let her side immediately to look around.

         "I was never a fan of this place," Morgan mused as she browsed, thumbing through the objects, though the material phased through her, "I only went to it because of necessity. I liked Honeydukes, but everyone does, and Tome and Scrolls. Oh! And The Haunted Hogsmeade Shop! What a lovely, creepy place!"

         Giving her another minute, she pretended to scan the shop for what she needed. Moving around, she kept looking at objects, so focused on listening to Morgan, that she didn't notice the person coming towards her until they crashed into each other.

         "Woah, now!"

         The person grabbed her, steadying her, and she reeled back instinctually, blinking to see Sirius Black. "Clumsy, aren't we?" he smiled at her, as if he was trying to be charming.

         "No, I was focused," she defended herself.

         "On quills?" he raised an eyebrow, "I really don't think they're that interesting, but whatever's your fancy." He picked up a few, giving her a wink. "I'm here for Remus, he's such a writer, that one."

         "Remus..." Morgan whispered.

         Greer's heart clenched, but she fought not to show any emotion on her face. "Don't believe in writing yourself?" she inquired.

         "Oh no, not like he does."

         She hummed. "Ask how Remus is," Morgan pleaded, turning towards her.

         Greer turned her head away.

         "You know, I've been meaning to ask, and this is horribly insensitive, but I've got nothing to lose, have you had any contact with your father since he's been, you know, on the run?"

         He said it so casually, like he was asking her about Potions homework, while adjusting his leather jacket, that her heart almost stopped. She didn't know what to do. Whether to drop dead in that moment because she had been seen in the library, because someone had seen her note, because – because anything, something – but she just stared at him.

         This was a boy she didn't know. This was Sirius Black; a bloodtraitor, a boy who walked out his family, away from his family, and just his family, or any family, the Blacks. The Ancient and Most Noble house, renowned in the wizarding world. This was a boy she housed for dinner growing up, because while the Ainsleys were not ancient and most noble they were still respected and highly regarded until last May, with pure blood for centuries.

         But the most important part: this was a bloodtraitor asking her, a bloodpure, a damning question. He was attempting to send her to hell, to chain her and drag her down into the depths of despair where he was. And he was doing it publicly.

         "No," she answered coolly.

         He eyed her, twisting one of the quills he had in his hands around before nodding. "Has he just not contacted you?"

         "Why are you so interested? I did not think these matters were of such importance to you," she said in lieu of lying, "It's not like we know each other."

         "We could," he shrugged.

         She let a grin overtake her features – a mocking one. "No, we couldn't," and it was the truest statement she told him.

         "Ask him about Remus," Morgan persisted, "Please, Greer."

         She turned her gaze, as innocently as possible, over to Morgan, who was looking at her with pleading eyes. Breaking, she turned back to Sirius. "How is your friend? The one who dated Morgan?"

         "Remus?" he raised an eyebrow.

         "Yes. I can be compassionate."

         "Hmm. Remus would say that's not part of your wheelhouse, but I'll let him know you asked how he is, bet he'll be surprised," Sirius looked too pleased to see that she inquired about Remus to question why she ever would, "He's upset, but he's fine, and he doesn't like you – doubt he'll be happy that I talked to you even."

         "Then why are you?"

         "Because I wanted to," he shrugged, "Better question is why you're entertaining the conversation, eh?"

         And wasn't that a question? Why was she? She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. Paranoia swept through her at the thought that someone could see her speaking to a bloodtraitor, the worse thing to be talking to. No, that or a mudblood. Being caught when her father was around would mean punishment. He would break her, over and over again, and then he would put her back together.

         He would hold her, tenderly, and say that it was for the best, that he was only trying to make her better, stronger, more resistant. Better for the world, better for everyone, and eventually she would thank him. And then she would have to thank him for the punishment, because he was right, wasn't he?

         Diamonds formed under pressure, he was adding pressure, and the outcome would be Greer the diamond. Greer, the porcelain princess; Greer, the perfect daughter.

         Greer, the daughter engaged in conversation with a bloodtraitor. Perhaps that was not expected behavior.

         "I entertain what I want," she said, plucking up some quills and leaving him behind, going to pay before leaving the building.

         Morgan matched her movements, mimicking the footsteps that she didn't have to take. "Sirius isn't all that bad," she said, though more-so musing to herself, "I thought he was intolerable at first. So infuriating, but he seems much nicer to you than he was to me. Or maybe he was nice to me at first, too? No, I think he was jealous that Remus was spending time with me...thank you for asking, by the way, and I'm sorry that Remus hates you. It's my fault."

         She sucked in a breath, but she didn't dare speak a word, noting all the people out on the streets. Lots of students had candy now, lollipops and chocolate, with an amount growing as she got closer to Honeydukes. The bell above the door rang as she entered the building, and she had to weave through too many people as she tried to find her friends, if they were already there, but eventually she did find them, in the corner by the chocolate frogs.

         "You're late again," Nikolai noted, looking down at her, "That's twice in one day."

         "Sorry, got held up."

         "Anything serious?" oh, how she could laugh at that!

         Instead, she shook her head. "No, nothing. Don't worry about it."

         Morgan peered between them, sticking her head through Nikolai's chest. "Why won't you tell him? Do you not trust him?"

         She turned around. "I am in dire need of some chocolate bars, and I saw someone with gumdrops on the way over here and they looked so good."

         "Okay, that was purposeful," Morgan continued, "I get it. The ignoring me around people, but that was purposeful."

         "Already went by the chocolate area," Carmichael held up their cart which was full of some bars and various other candies, "Got you some, too, some don't worry."

         "Thank you. You are so good to me," she allowed herself one touch of Carmichael's arm in gratitude. Controlled, calculated, placating. She was Greer Ainsley, she was bloodpure, and among her friends were Carmichael Carrow and Nikolai Dolohov. Those were the people she associated with, not the likes of Sirius Black.

         Perhaps, if he had stayed bloodpure, she would have associated with him. If he wasn't the rebellious type, if he hadn't removed himself, hadn't been forcibly removed, they would have been friends, but they weren't.

✧

         THE LETTER WAITED for her.

         In that damning elegant script of her father, it called for her, just her. Greer. And it would always call for her, ready for whenever she was brave enough to face the music and open it. But Greer Ainsley was not a brave girl. She was a patient one, yes, but even she could not outwait an unmoving letter.

         "The letter's not going away," Morgan said from the bay window, lazily perched, watching her.

         "Yes, I know. Thank you, Morgan," Greer snapped, finally alone and able to talk to the ghost.

         The mad, mad Greer Ainsley with her insane ability to speak to the dead. Her sixth sense to see dead Morgan Lee allowing her to communicate with the dead girl who fell limp in May, never to move again.

         "You might as well open it if you're not going to take my suggestions to destroy it."

         "Destroying it would be foolish."

         "Destroying it would give you plausible deniability that you didn't receive it," Morgan countered.

         "But I did receive it. I have it, and I have to know what it says," Greer took hold of it, grasping the letter in her hands for the first time since the night she received it, "Morgan, I have to know what he wants, because I have to know if he discloses his location – or if he tells me anything worth knowing."

         Morgan leaned forward from her perch. "You're obviously scared of the letter."

         "Of course I am," she bitterly admitted. The confession was not one she would make it anyone else, but telling a ghost was basically like telling herself, and saying she was scared was admittance she made months ago when Morgan died.

         It was also one she dared not show anyone else, lest it get back to her father. Alistair Ainsley reveled in fear, loving the look of it on his victims, but he abhorred the look on his daughter. It was a weakness she could have.

         "Despite it, I have to know."

         "Why?"

         She pursed her lips. "If he does say anything of importance, I'll tell someone."

         "Who? Who would you possibly tell? Sirius Black?" Morgan laughed.

         "No," Greer frowned, "Headmaster Dumbledore. I went to him at the end of last year. I told him that if there was anything I could do to help put my father away, I would, and I intend to keep that promise. Truly."

         "Oh, Greer," Morgan sighed, "You know I don't blame you. It was all Alistair."

         She turned away, "But I knew. From the start, I knew. I may not have used the curse on you, but I was there. I'm just as guilty, and that's why you're haunting me; you're my penance, but I'm willing to try and get you justice."

         Morgan got up, floating over to her. "I thought you already established that I'm not haunting you, and you don't owe me anything."

         "But you deserve it. You were a much better person than I am, so if his letter helps lock him up, then I have to read it."

         "Okay," Morgan quietly accepted her resolution, "I'll read it with you."

         Greer nodded, taking a breath before flipping over the envelope to open it. Silently, she got out the piece of parchment inside, opening it up to read its contents.

         My dearest,

         I apologize for my lack of correspondence. In my state, it has not been safe to converse, but I have no managed to secure a letter of great importance to you. Know that I am safe and well, and I do hope the same for you.

         I have heard that Helen Lee has been granted temporary guardianship over you in my absence. That is no matter, I am looking into getting your godfather appointed guardian, however the process is taking more time than I would like. Perhaps by winter break the situation will be sorted.

         Continue to act as expected. I will reach out again when it is safe. I am working on my return to society in the coming months, but you need not concern yourself with that.

         Be an Ainsley, my dear Greer, for you never know who is watching.

         Yours,

         A

         The A was large and swooping, creating a statement on the parchment, signifying to all who knew who the signature belonged to. Greer scanned the words again for anything hidden, but there was nothing. Nothing to suggest a location, or any hint of any action – anything to suggest any wrongdoing. Of course he would never put it in writing. Thinking he would was a foolish thought. Merlin, she was such a foolish girl.

         "Your godfather," Morgan peered over her shoulder, flying through the note and across the room, "Who is he?"

         "Lachlan Lestrange," she answered through thin lips, "It would make sense for him to want to remove from Helen's care. Helen is on the other side, it's too dangerous for me to have close relations to her."

         "What? She might sway you?" Morgan jested.

         "Yes. But under Uncle Lachlan's care, I will be under lock and key," she confirmed. She closed her eyes, "It doesn't matter. I'm used to that. What worries me is that he has plans. He wants to return."

         "He can't," Morgan laughed, loud and unafraid, "He killed me and everyone knows it. They might not have the evidence to really convict him, but it's known. And he's outed as a Death Eater."

         "Morgan, public memory is a fickle thing. Everyone has forgotten about that exposure by now, except those who have chosen to remember. In a few more months, you too will be forgotten, especially if I'm removed from Helen's care. All association between the Lees and the Ainsleys will end, like it never existed at all. If he wants to return, he has the power to do so. I will never doubt that. You shouldn't either."

         "You put too much stock in him."

         "You never put enough, and it got you killed."

         "I made by lie, and I will lie in it, but no one will powerful enough to come back into the grace of society after this or else I died for nothing," Morgan vehemently fought back.

         Greer wished she could reach out and touch her, brought their hands together in a lapse of tenderness. "You shouldn't have died at all, but I'm going to make sure it wasn't for nothing. I don't know how yet, but I will."

         "Such nice words from a girl who's scared of her own father," Morgan smiled, sad and almost sharp, still sharp enough to cut her.

         She folded the letter back into the envelope it came from, putting it back into her trunk and latching the clasp. Morgan floated back to the bay window, watching the sun set, no more words wanting to be spoken. Greer turned away from her again, as she had too many times, and went to the bathroom.

         She was afraid. That was the truth, the universal truth: Greer Ainsley was terrified of her father. The other truth? Alistair Ainsley murdered Morgan Lee and he deserved to rot for it.