Author's Notes: Written for The Original Horcrux, who requested/challenged me to write ghost smut.

As such, this story contains… ghost smut. Which is surprisingly difficult to write, since there is the small problem of ghosts being insubstantial…



The Baron was impossible to evade.

Helena tried to do it, year after year, and still every day, he had her cornered in some deserted corridor or room and try to speak to her and the only way she could get away was to drift through wall after wall until she entered the Ravenclaw common room, where he was not permitted.

This method of escape from him was successful for quite some time, but it grew dreadfully tiresome.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded eventually, after trying to get away from him for over an hour and constantly being cut off from the common room by him. "Why are you following me – tormenting me?"

"I am not tormenting you," he told her, seeming not the least bit perturbed by her accusations. "And I think you know very well what I want from you… it is the same thing I wanted from you when we were alive…"

Helena let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Still, Baron?" she asked derisively. "Death is not enough to make you stop wanting… that?"

"Certainly not. Just because we are no longer in possession of our bodies, doesn't mean…"

Helena was struck. She hadn't considered…

"Can we still feel…?" She trailed off, gazing at the Baron with wide eyes. If she had been alive, she was sure that her heart would have been racing.

"Almost," he breathed, drifting closer to her. His hand, pale and transparent but still bearing some resemblance to the hands that he had had while alive, moved close to her cheek and she shrank away automatically.

"I… I don't think–" she stammered, but no more words would come to her mouth. The Baron was far too close and Helena was drifting backwards almost inadvertently. She didn't want to move away from the Baron, not exactly, but she couldn't help it.

"You don't think?" His voice was low, soft and smooth, and his hand moved slowly to hover millimetres from the curve of her breast. She arched her back automatically and his fingers sank through her, sending a cold thrill through her body.


"Pity we didn't have time to do this when we were alive," murmured the Baron. His hand drifted through her torso and Helena shrank back again. It was an odd, eerie feeling, being touched by another ghost – cold in a way that she had not felt for so terribly long. It was strange to feel something again, even if it was only chilly discomfort.

"If you hadn't behaved so horribly, we might have," Helena told him, but though she had meant to snap, she couldn't quite bring herself to say anything in a voice that was not a soft moan. His hand was travelling lower, his fingers still inside her, dragging through her stomach until he stopped between her legs.

Helena bucked involuntarily. She hadn't even realized that she could feel anything anymore and the Baron's fingers, moving slowly back and forth through her body, sending chills through her, were more than she had ever expected to feel again.

"I thought that you would like it," he whispered. "I know that you always desired me…"

"I- I did not…"

"You did, don't deny. You regret that you didn't allow me… you regret that you died a virgin…"

She turned her head away from him, wishing that she could push him back or bring herself to move away from him, but she could do neither, could only hover before him wish his hand moving within her.

"I know, Helena," he murmured, "that you had no chance to learn the conventions of romance when you were alive, but it is generally considered proper, when one is doing something… of this sort… to you, for you to return the favour…"

"I- I don't know how," Helena whispered, her voice strained.

"Put your hand on me – in me, rather," he told her, a slight sneer in his voice – hardly a surprise, he never stopped sneering, even now, even in death. Helena hesitated, then extended her hand until she felt coldness in her fingers. It was a most unnerving sight to see her hand moving through his body, first his chest, then his waist, then moving steadily lower.

The Baron let out a low groan and Helena paused, presuming that she had found the correct place. She looked at him worriedly and he nodded.

"That's very good, Helena," he whispered.

"Is it? Do you really think so?"

"Yes…" he told her, and Helena's lips twitched into the slightest of smiles. She moved closer to him so that her breasts brushed against his chest, sending a wonderful, ice-cold shock through her.

"Closer," he hissed and Helena moved herself slightly further towards him. The whole front of her body was in contact with his now, his hand still inside her and her hand inside him and she wished that she had breath so that she might gasp.

"Oh…" she whispered again in lieu of the moans and breathless sighs that she wanted to utter.

It was strange, unnerving and it sent Helena into a state of ecstasy that she had been sure she would never get a chance to experience. She arched and quivered, but with every insubstantial pleasure that the Baron granted her, Helena could not help but wonder what it would have been like to be touched that way in life.