◤ chapter three: ❛ her tainted tiara ❜ ◢

✧

THE DOORS OF THE BATHROOM SLAMMED SHUT AFTER HER. Eyes wide, she went to the sink, lathering her face with cold water as if to shake herself out of a nightmare. And it had to be, right? A cruel nightmare meant to bring bile up from her gut to her mouth, threatening to expel what she forced down months ago until she could hardly feel anything at all.

         Oh, how her ears were cruel. Ears then her eyes, forcing her to see what wasn't true – what wasn't there anymore. Turning off the water, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Princess Greer Ainsley, not too royal at the moment. Face dripping water, maddened eyes, hairs whipping around her head from the wind she ran against to get there. Ragged, not regel.

         "Greer..."

         "No," she gritted out, shaking her head, refusing to submit to the madness again. She was perfectly sane in the light of day, so perfectly sane she had to be at night. Not tempted by hallucinations of voices and figures.

         She squeezed her eyes shut. "There's no one here. It's just me."

         "Greer, please."

         "No!" she thrashed her head around.

         A shiver ran down her spine, cold from her shoulder spreading endlessly through her skin. Flinching away, the temperature forced her eyes open, revealing the figure of dead Morgan Lee behind her, hand raised as if she touched her.

         "You're not here."

         "I am. You can see me, you know that I'm here," Morgan shook her head, reaching out but stopping as Greer threw herself away from her.

         "I am trapped in a nightmare," Greer disagreed, "Or I've dead."

         Morgan huffed. "You're not dead."

         "Well, you're not alive," she spat. That was the truth of the matter: Morgan Lee was pronounced dead in May, the killing curse taking her too young, leaving Greer behind to pick up the pieces.

         And how selfish of a thought? That she was left behind, that she now bared the burden of living and answering questions meant for her father, disregarding the dead girl that stood before her. How cruel. How selfish. How utterly royal.

         She heaved out anger and breathed in regret. The bitter, dark remorse that curled in her gut, suffocating her, drowning her out until it was the only thing left.

         Was it only months ago that she played this little game with Morgan? The two spewing at each other, throwing around what they thought best in disregard for the other's warning? Was it only months ago that they lived in the same house, Greer keeping secrets of murder in order to save her?

         And now it had been months since Morgan lived. An entire summer passed by in agonizing seconds, a funeral and memorial service, a change in custody from her hiding father to Helen Lee. Oh, how Helen did not deserve the fate the Ainsleys brought to her.

         Morgan pursed her lips. "I am well aware of my current – well, forever – state."

         Greer turned away from her. "I'm hallucinating. I've gone mad."

         "I doubt that."

         "How else do you explain yourself?"

         Morgan crept closer. Not quite a walk, feet not touching the tile floor, floating so close to walking, like she wasn't aware that her feet couldn't touch the ground. "It's like you said, I'm a ghost."

         Greer scoffed. "So you're haunting me."

         And isn't that a cruel twist of fate again? That Greer, who saw her die, who saw the Thestrals that pulled carriages to Hogwarts, forever changed by the sight, was now haunted by her.

         "I wouldn't quite call it haunting. I don't think I'm haunting you," Morgan disagreed, "I've been – well, I don't know how to explain it – caught in a void? Limbo? Purgatory? It doesn't matter, what does is that I've been screaming for someone to notice me, begging to be seen, and you're the first one who succeeded."

         "I'm sure there are others who would want to see you more. That little boyfriend of yours certainly seemed intent on another second with you."

         A pained, sorrowful look fell across Morgan's face. Looking out the small window near the ceiling of the bathroom, catching a glimpse of moonlight. "Remus," she breathed out, like a promise. No, not a promise, but more of a betrayed thought.

         "I thought if you didn't tie yourself to an item you were meant to find peace. Find the afterlife," Greer eyed her.

         Morgan's head snapped to her, turning away from the window. "I don't know. I never thought about what happened after I died until I was dead."

         "So you didn't? Tie yourself to an object?"

         Morgan shook her head. "My soul should just be mine."

         "And yet you're here."

         "I'm here," she agreed.

✧

         THE HAUNTING OF Greer Ainsley continued into the next day, and the one after that. Morgan's spirit whisked around Hogwarts, tied to her and unknown to anyone else. She didn't speak a word to the ghost. Every minute Morgan continued to stay, shining and translucent but still floating, she became more convinced it was a ghost rather than a hallucination.

         Lessons started, Morgan moving across the classroom and floating in front of professors, messing with plants and textbooks alike. She spoke sometimes, little whispers from beyond the grave, egging Greer to look at her, but she didn't.

         In the hallways, she'd pass by those she knew in life and her face would fall, following them sadly. Greer would lose track of her, moving on, and soon enough Morgan would find her again, silent and still.

         "I don't know why Professor Sprout finds importance in plants," Carmichael gruffly complained, shouldering his bag full of books. Greer pursed her lips beside him, daintily placing pressure on her feet with every step.

         "They can be important ingredients," she pointed out.

         "Right, because Carmichael over here cares so much for Potions," Nikolai jabbed, a flair of amusement rousing in his eyes before dying into the cold nothingness that controlled his face.

         Collected and pristine. A wall not a mirror.

         "Oi! I'll care about Potions when it involves some vigor."

         "You're always looking for a fight, aren't you?" Nikolai further teased him.

         "Yeah, but it makes me Slytherin's best beater, doesn't it?"

         "Oh, yes, what would we do without you?"

         "Lose more matches."

         "Boys," Greer reprimanded in a low voice, "Calm down."

         "Yes, Miss Ainsley," the two chorused, impressionisms of smiles gloating on their features for a millisecond.

         She rolled her eyes, gaze wandering to her classmates busying themselves in the corridor. Wild expressions flying on their faces, free and loud for all to see. Clear happiness, frustration, physical hits and laughs. Then her eyes found Nikolai's, his blank canvas marking the impression of an expression before falling.

         Morgan was loud once. She was loud as a ghost, even, and she stayed perfectly pristine.

         Pristine, but alive.

         "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta hit the locker room before Temperance has a fit."

         "Merlin forbid you're late."

         "Yeah, Merlin forbid. Temperance will hex me into next year if we're not on time, and I'm not interested in finding out how many hexes she knows."

         "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Nikolai mused before ushering off Carmichael, "Well go on them. Practice and make us proud for the first match."

         "Always do," Carmichael smirked, seemingly the only facial movement that could stay on his face for an extended period of time.

         Greer waved at him, watching him leave. "He's so dramatic, isn't he?" Nikolai asked.

         "Carmichael's always been a fan of theatre," she shrugged, brushing her hair behind her ear.

         "Yes, he hasn't shut up about the production he saw over summer. What was the name again?"

         "I forgot."

         "Me too. How unfortunate."

         "He would be so disappointed."

         "Even more unfortunate," Nikolai quipped, "I can already hear his complaints."

         Focused on him, she didn't even notice the body barreling towards her until it forced her backwards, only caught by Nikolai at the last second.

         "Sorry!"

         She blinked, gathering her bearings before seeing Remus before her.

         "I didn't mean to – oh, Greer," the apologetic tone and wide eyes turned to stone when he saw how she was. It felt like he took all the air in her chest with him.

         "Remus," she returned formally, detached and aloof, holding up her head.

         "Remus..." Morgan whispered pitifully behind her. The ghost floating towards her, reaching out to touch his face – only to be unable to reach him. Hand floating through like she wasn't there. And, for him, she wasn't. She didn't exist in the material world, trapped in purgatory with Greer as her only thread of life.

         "Moony!" a voice called out from ahead. James Potter stood waving over for his friend. Remus took a look back then returned his gaze to her, leaving without another word.

         Morgan followed him like a sad puppy. Greer turned her head down, unwilling to look ahead and face the music.

         "How uncivilized," Nikolai commented, "He lacked common decency, and running – really? He should just be glad you didn't fall."

         "I had you to catch me," she whispered.

         Nikolai looked at her, calculating her. "Are you alright?"

         "Fine. Just had the breath knocked out of me," she lied, spilling out of her mouth as easily as the truth.

         "Well, we better get going. Don't want to be late for Transfiguration."

         "Right," she nodded, eyes trailing Morgan for a moment before turning the corner with Nikolai. He felt onto her arm as if to ground her, steady her from the uneasiness Morgan Lee's life brought.

         Last year, Remus was nothing. Not a blimp on her radar. He never spoke to her and she never dreamed to talk to him. Now, Morgan Lee existed in their lives, connecting them, and leaving them behind to pick up the pieces.

         Remus, with a broken heart, and her with a tainted tiara. Still, it hadn't broken, and Nikolai made sure it didn't waver.

         But, eventually, Nikolai left her for his next class, her free period. She stayed in the library, hiding in the back unwilling to reveal herself to anyone who might come looking. Lily Evans came fluttering in, James Potter chasing after, but their eyes never found her and she didn't dare do anything to turn the attention on her.

         Morgan returned, gloomily setting across from her. "I wish I could speak to him one last time," she muttered, entertaining herself with missing with her open textbook.

         Greer swallowed, but otherwise didn't acknowledge the ghost. "I'm sorry you're stuck with me," was all she managed to get out moments later. It wasn't quite the apology Morgan deserved, nor the one that Morgan wanted to give, but her throat clamped and refused to let anything more out.

         Sincerity did not exist in her royal realm. Sincerity existed in the faces of other, unrestricted and loud. Sincerity existed in Morgan, not her.

         Apologies was all other wanted to hear from her. Perhaps the truth, a full account of what happened that night, but an apology. An admittance; a declaration for justice. Everything she was not taught to give.

         Everything she wouldn't give.

         Morgan's soft eyes found hers. "I'm stuck. But not with you. Not like that."

         Greer watched her for another minute, a lump in her throat, before looking back at her work. She heard a fluttering, a paper crane flying towards her, landing beside her hand. The crane stilled, magic depleted from it, and she tore it apart to read the note.

         Library tonight after dinner. Letter from your father.

         The paper erupted into fire, smoke and ash left behind. Morgan looked on with hesitant eyes, a haunted look over taking her features. Greer couldn't help but feel the same.

         "I think I'm stuck because of him."

         "I am him."

✧

         THE LIBRARY REMAINED desolate after dinner, and she couldn't decide of she liked it more that way or not. Slipping away from Carmichael and Nikolai was easy, feigning a queasy stomach from cramps that she had to care of. They didn't dare ask more questions, though she doubted they would stop her from coming if she told the truth.

         Part of her wondered if they had contact with him she wasn't allowed. Alistair Ainsley remained elusive from her life since that night, slipping away into the shadows with the help of his organization. Though, she knew that didn't mean he was clueless. Eyes were stationed everywhere, they would find her even in the places she hid.

         She crept around, waiting for someone to appear, but no one did. No sign of life – not even Madam Pince – only Greer Ainsley. Her, and a lone letter left on the desk she sat at not even five hours ago.

         Hesitation freezing her for a moment, she went forward, taking the letter in hand. Greer, it stated on the front in the script she knew was from her father's handwriting. Graceful, poised, no mistakes or tremors in form.

         "I think you should burn it," Morgan appeared beside her, fluttering around to touch the spine of the books. Not that she actually touched them, but allowed her fingertips to get so close like she could feel like without going through the objects.

         "That would be foolish."

         "Would serve him right."

         "It's better to know what he has to say."

         Morgan made a noise of disagreement, displeasure evident in her every step. "It's not. You taught me that."

         Greer looked down. The past clogging her throat again. It's better knowing, Morgan had argued. No it isn't, she shot back.

         "It is. You taught me that."

         "Well, let us take a look at our current states. I am but a simple ghost stuck in purgatory, and you're alive."

         "Haunted by you."

         "Oh please, like I would ever choose to haunt you," Morgan rolled her eyes, "You think too much of herself. If I had to choose who I haunted, it would be my friends or Helen. Or Alistair. I think I'd have a lot of fun with him. It wouldn't be you."

         "Well, thank you. Way to make a girl feel appreciated," she snapped, though she couldn't disagree with Morgan's sentiments. Why would Morgan choose her, if there was a choice? She was just the girl who would've let her aunt be killed, who stood by and did nothing while her father plotted for multiple murders of her family. She was the girl who watched her die, unable to stop it.

         The ghost turned to her, soft again. "I'm not haunting you. You're the only one who can see me, however."

         "I don't understand why."

         "You did see me die."

         "Yeah, but plenty of people have witnessed death, doesn't mean they keep seeing it after," Greer disagreed, the weight of the letter growing stronger with every passing moment.

         Morgan shrugged. "Maybe I imprinted on you. Like an object."

         Greer shot her an indignant look. "I am not an object!"

         "No, but maybe the logic still applies," Morgan mused, "Well, whatever the case is, no matter what I try, no one else can see me. I was lost in a void of nothingness before you, catching glimpses of life through her before last week. But now I'm here, permanently maybe, and still you're the only one who even notices me. There has to be a reason."

         "I'm tired, Morgan, and I have Astronomy in a few hours," Greer sighed, turning away from the ghost.

         "You can't ignore me."

         "Well, I don't know why you're stuck here and why I'm the only one who can see you, and we're not going to figure it out tonight!" Greer snapped. "Best we drop it for now."

         Morgan glared at her, the ghost powering through her leaving her gut frozen, stumbling back onto another table. She huffed, letter in hand, leaving for her room.

         She placed the letter in her trunk. She'd read it tomorrow, when her mind was clearer and she didn't feel like she'd explode at the slightest inconvenience. Laying on top of her bed, she looked out the window, waiting for the hours to pass until Astronomy, forcing her mind not to think about Morgan.

         Out of sight, out of mind. That was how it was meant to be, so that's how it would go.