Dark, Twisted and Time Turned

Chapter 25: Feeling Peeve-ish

(*Warning: Language)

"Hey. Brax. Abraxas, wake up." He murmurs something in his sleep, yanking up his sheets over his head. "Wake up, darling."

"Don't wanna." His mumbled words slur together. She lets some magic flow through her, and she yanks back the sheet.

"Come on, lazy. It's not even that early yet," she whines, shaking him. "Come keep me company!" He finally peeks his eyes open, looking around the room confused. She pops into view, and he sits up with a smile.

"Hermione! How are you feeling?"

"Excellent," she says simply, plopping herself down on the end of his bed. She doesn't make a divot. "I've learned a few things- invisibility, for one. I'm having a grand time, although the pain was nauseating. I can't imagine doing it without the draught."

"What time is it anyways?" He questions, squinting at his watch on the bed side table.

"Oh, nearly six." He shoots her a rather miffed look.

"Seriously?" She grins at him.

"Of course. Hush now, wouldn't want to wake Tom." He layed back down in his bed.

"Why don't you go play around or some sort? Let me get some more sleep." She sighs, floating onto her back and drifting around.

"But there's no one else up yet, except Perseus, and he's crazy. I'm bored," she whines, hovering over him. His fingers trail along her waist.

"I'm sorry love, but I'm tired. I exhausted my magic yesterday. Give me another hour, alright? How does that sound?"

"Fine. One hour."

"Thank you, mes lune."

"Don't try to charm me with your french," she remarks as she floats out the door. It was dull, roaming the halls early morning with no purpose. She hesitated outside the Gryffindor common room for far too long, knowing the nostalgia would surely kill her if she tried to go in. She went in anyways.

Harry.

Ron.

Her parents.

She falls out of the air, clutching at her chest as she becomes corporeal. Oh, fuck. The pain hit her like a rock. She was a murderer, she was corrupted. She took the easiest, and also most extreme measures out of facing her mistakes, and now she was forty years before her friends were even born.

Live up to your choices. Come on, you should be proud of your character development.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" She glances up at the red haired teen standing over her, tucking a blonde girl behind his back.

"Watch your mouth, Tee." She chastises, turning away before Hermione can see her face. "I'm going back to my rooms. I'll see you later." She quickly slips out, and the boy turns back to her.

"Once again, who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?" She ignores him, still gasping through her grief. "Oh, Merlin's balls, what's wrong with you?"

"Ignatius, who's this you're talking to?" Hermione pays no attention to the additional boy in the room now.

"Hell if I know, she doesn't talk." One of them reaches for her, and to her horror, their hand goes right through. She hadn't had the chance to make herself tangible. "Oh shit." Ignatius curses, backing away rapidly. "Run and find Dumbledore, it's another ghost. That thing that killed Myrtle, it's back."

"They already caught the oaf and his beast. Look at her; there's colour. That's a poltergeist, not a ghost."

I suggest you get a grip and disappear. This is really not a good situation, unless you want to try possession.

"What do you mean, she's a poltergeist? They don't just randomly appear, didn't you pay attention in history of magic?" Ignatius pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I don't know what to do. Should we tell Dumbledore? Peeves? Those those two fucking idiots from Slytherin?"

I swear to any God listening, if you don't get a grip I will take control of our body. I'd rather not lose our fun advantage over people not knowing.

Do it then. She knew her mistake the instant she gave the denizen permission. He laughed, and she was struck with a sudden migraine as her back began burning, the runes seeping into her. He devoured the dark magic hungrily, and she flicks out of sight again.

"Well, shall we torture? Kill? So much fun things to do- poison! Oh, yes, we should brew poisons." The voice coming out of her mouth was not hers and she was forced to have to terrifying sensation of simply being an inhabitant, rather then the controller.

Do not brew poison.

"But why not, there's so many fun ones. Bloodroot poison! That's completely undetectable. The effects are like manic pain! Isn't that cool!" The denizen makes the mistake of moving her body back towards the Slytherin dorms, though for what purpose she didn't know. He was nearly impossible to shove out, especially considering he was feeding off of dark magic. "Do you have anything fun in your room? Other than that niffler- we could go steal things."

She was in near physical pain trying to force the denizen out so she could get into her pocket- she needed a Muddle-Mind. Now.

"Hey, no. What the hell are you doing- you bitch! You evil, conniving, manipulative little bitch!" He exclaims, fighting against her as she fought through his influence. "You can't just lock me away again, it's barely been five minutes!" She finally managed to drink it down, and he disappeared into the corners of her mind. She becomes corporeal again, and when she speaks, it's her own voice again.

"You're alright," she breathes to herself, leaning against the wall. "You're alright."

~*~

There was ink spread across every surface in the trophy room. Bottles of the stuff, upended into the cups, smeared over glass, finger paintings on every flat surface. And Peeves was in the middle of it all, cackling like a mad man. She could hear the commotion from the fourth floor, and had made her way to watch the show. The caretaker, whoever he was, was shrieking with rage, desperately trying to both get Peeves out of the room, as well as protect his delicate little white kitten from the flying ink.

"Get down- get down from here this instant! I will bring the Headmaster into this!" Hermione, meanwhile, was reading a discarded, ink splattered news paper- Attacks in Austria and Cokeworth, Grindelwald to Blame. The usual news, of course. Attacks in Austria. There were always attacks in Austria, and the occasional violent attack on some small muggle or Muggleborn village in the UK.

"Inky, inky, black and stinky," Peeves sings, flying overhead and pouring a full bottle of ink on the little kitten. The caretaker makes an outraged noise and scoops up the creature, before taking off. Peeves blows a raspberry and slams the door with a laugh.

"Morning, Peeves," Hermione says simply, perched atop a trophy case. She folds up the newspaper and sets it aside. He looks up at her, silvery and light.

"Oh, a little girly! Hello, girly. Are you that new ghost, miserable mess moaning Myrtle?" Her heart skips at the mention of the dead girl. He flies up, doing a backstroke towards her.

"No, not a new ghost. A temporary ghost, I suppose you could call me." She flicks out of sight to the other case when he gets too close. "I'm bored. Ink? Far too mediocre," She examines her nails nonchalantly. "Anyone could do it."

"Oh, you want to make some trouble with old Peevsie?" He grins, looking around at the mess of ink. She gives him a shrug in response, quirking a small smile.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't be opposed to it."