Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

Written for the Quidditch League – Season 4 Fanfiction Competition – Round 10

Round 10 – Of Ghosts & Portraits

We're giving some love to some minor characters this round. I'm not talking about regular humans though. Instead, you will be writing about the folk whose souls are either captured in a magical portrait, or wandering the wizarding world as a ghost. (Individual character assignments posted below).

You may write about your character in their human life if you wish, however he or she must feature as their ghost or portrait self somewhere in your story. Likewise, your ghost or portrait doesn't have to be the main focus of your fic, but he or she must play an important role to the plot.

Chaser 2: Edgar Cloggs (Ghost)

Additional Prompts:

5.(word) history

11.(dialogue) "I'm still here."

15.(image) .

Chaser 2 for the Wimbourne Wasps

Redemption

Soft light filtered into the room, bathing everything in warm golden hues. Not that he could see the beauty of the light reflecting off the mirrors and stained glass—Edgar's eyes were closed, a gentle smile spreading on his lips.

If only people could see what he saw. If only they could see the waves flowing around him. Colorful melodies, soft, delicate sounds gaining physical form. If only they could see the majestic indigo wave of the beautiful crescendo, the enchanting silver of the melodious melding of every note. The rainbow that spread in front of him with every stroke of the violin was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. How he wished that others would be able to gaze upon the soothing cadence of every sound.

They could not, of course.

Music, melodies, did not ensnare all of their senses. They were not able to see the amazing colors that surged around them as the sounds traveled through the air, nor could they smell the fresh, crisp scent that certain notes had, or the intense, almost burning aftermath of others. They could not taste the sweet zest that came with every low note, nor the bitter tinge left behind every high one.

To everyone else, music was simply something to be heard.

No one would ever understand how consuming music truly was, and he could do nothing but pity them.

His eyes snapped open as the door crashed against the wall, shattering the mesmerizing world that had been dancing around him only moments before. He lowered his violin, glaring at the child that had run into the room, a big grin on his face, completely unaware of the destruction he had caused.

"What?" he snapped, freezing the boy in place.

The grin slipped off his flushed face.

"Da- Father, I just wanted to ask if you could come play with me?" His son looked up at him, a shy smile starting to appear on his lips. "Mom got me a new broom, and I wanted to try it out."

Edgar narrowed his eyes at his son. "I have told you time and time again, Jasper: do not interrupt me while I am practicing."

"But… but you've been here all morning, Daddy," Jasper murmured, lowering his head.

"And I will remain here for the rest of the day." Edgar shook his head. "When I was your age, I was already playing two instruments. You still have five years before you go to Hogwarts. The least you could do is to put aside your childish games and focus on learning an instrument. I would not be able to bear the shame of having a son who could not even string a few notes together."

He ignored the flinch he saw from his son. Good. Maybe now, the boy would realize what was truly important in life. Maybe he would finally put aside those silly notions of being a Quidditch player. Perhaps he should have not allowed his wife to indulge their son, so much; maybe then, the boy would have been at his side, accompanying him with his own instrument instead of having these foolish ideas polluting his mind.

"I'm sorry, Father," Jasper whispered. "I'll leave now."

Edgar was not listening anymore. He had his violin up, already lost to the beautiful notes that weaved and danced around him.

Edgar was in his music room. His eyes were closed, and he could feel the sun warming his face; however, aside from that, he could not feel, see, or taste anything.

There was no beautiful melody bringing his world to life. There was no sound making everything more colorful, more alive, simply better.

Truthfully, he did not think that anything could make it better.

He opened his eyes, gaze falling on the mass of black filling his back yard. The sorrow coming from it saturated every particle of air. It made the air heavier, and left a sour taste in his mouth. It was nothing like the high notes he used to play, those that left just a taste of bitterness behind, only to be meshed with the sweet notes that followed.

The door slammed open, but he did not turn to look. Not even when he heard footsteps coming in his direction.

"Will you stay cooped up here the whole time?"

He glanced at his wife briefly before turning back towards the window, not truly seeing the people mingling around.

"Will you not leave this place, even during your son's wake?"

He said nothing, his gaze firmly on the once beautiful garden. He did not think that he could consider it beautiful ever again, no matter how brightly the flowers bloomed, or how vibrant the lawn looked.

In his mind, it would forever be marred by a small, broken body, lying sprawled on the lush greenery.

"I despise you. You and your music." The whispered words of his wife would have made him flinch once upon a time. If there had been one thing he loved more than music, it had been his beautiful wife. Far too late came the thought that he loved his son more than either.

He barely noticed her leave.

He remained in his music room, the last place he had seen his son alive.

"Are you sure about this, Edgar?"

A small smile pulled at Edgar's lips. It had been a while since he had truly smiled; this little twitch of the lips was all he was capable of nowadays.

"I am, Headmaster."

"Well, if you are sure, Hogwarts will welcome you as the new Quidditch instructor." The Headmaster smiled at him. "As you can imagine, it does come as a surprise that you want this staff position. When you contacted me about requesting a position at Hogwarts, I believed you would want to teach music. I am sure you know, but many students would have been delighted to have the chance to learn from a master such as you."

Edgar's eyes dulled, the tiny parody of a smile slipping of his face.

"Music…" Edgar closed his eyes for a moment. "Quidditch is my dream, Headmaster. I assure you, I will do my best to teach the students."

Edgar almost broke when he was faced with the empathic gaze of the aging Headmaster.

"I am sure you will."

It took every shred of self-control Edgar possessed not to break down when he saw the first years walk onto the pitch for the first time.

Jasper was supposed to be amongst them.

He took a shuddering breath and smiled when the students reached him. He would not spoil it for them. They looked just as excited as Jasper had been, all those years ago.

"Good morning, Class." He was rather proud of himself when the smile that graced his lips was far more honest than he had thought possible. "I see you are all excited to start your first Quidditch practice."

The children cheered, and he felt his smile widening—something that had not happened for going on five years.

"Right, I'm glad you are all excited. Now, tell me: what is the most important thing when playing Quidditch?"

"The broom!" several students shouted, and he shook his head.

He pointed towards a large basket sitting beside him. "The most important part is protection. You will always wear your protective gear when playing. I will have no one on a broom if they do not wear their gear, understand?"

The students nodded, and he felt his muscles loosen slightly.

Good. When he was through with them, he would make sure that every single one of them understood just how important protective gear was. Maybe if he had been there to do the same for Jasper, his son might have still been alive.

He chuckled as he flew around with his students. They were all so energetic. It had been two years since he had joined the Hogwarts staff, and it still surprised him that the students were always so full of energy. No matter if it rained or snowed, they were out on the pitch, having the time of their lives.

It surprised him, but he understood. Flying gave a person a freedom they simply could not experience when on the ground. He had never truly understood why someone would want to fly until he took this position and let the enthusiasm and joy of the children infect him.

A startled cry broke him out of his thoughts.

A heartbeat, that is how long it took for him to understand what he was seeing.

Merlin, please, no. Please.

He did not even think before he acted.

He raced as fast as he could, hoping against hope that he would catch the child in time. As the ground approached at frightening speed, he knew it would be too late; he knew he wouldn't reach the boy in time.

For a moment, all he could see was Jasper.

No. No. Not again. He would not let history repeat itself. He would not.

He let go of the grip he had on the broom, letting the momentum swing him down. He wrapped his arms around the child and pushed him up towards the broom. He felt the boy take hold of the handle, just as his own legs slipped.

Screaming filled his ears, then nothing.

Awareness came suddenly. One moment he was not, and then he was. First, everything had been dark, or maybe it had not. He did not truly know. It was nothing more than a blank one moment and consciousness the next.

Still, even with how sudden his consciousness came about—or maybe because of it—it took him a moment to realize that something was wrong.

He felt different. He felt… incomplete. He was not whole.

Then, with all the subtlety of a raging Hippogriff, the memories crashed into him.

The small Slytherin boy, who'd fallen from his broom. His desperate attempt to rescue him. His… his death. He had… he had died. He was dead.

Slowly, almost afraid of what he would see, he glanced down.

If his heart had been beating, it would have stopped.

"Oh, Merlin," he whispered. "I'm still here."

He was a ghost. Why? Why was he a ghost? He wanted to move on. He wanted to see his son. Why was he denied that?

"Professor Cloggs!"

He turned, his eyes widening when he saw the small Slytherin he had saved standing just a little behind him, looking at him wide-eyed.

"It's really you!" The boy grinned, though Edgar could see tears forming on the corner of his eyes. "You're here!" Then the smile vanished from the child's face. "I'm sorry." Tears streamed down pale cheeks. "It's all my fault. I'm so sorry."

"Marcus," he whispered, floating down towards the child. He almost reached out, but stopped himself in the nick of time. He remembered how uncomfortable it was for the living to be touched by ghosts. "It was hardly your fault. I am a grown man. I made my choice. Do not blame yourself."

Marcus' tears only came faster, and Edgar's eyes softened. Maybe it was not so bad that he had remained behind. Jasper was safe now, but there were still children who might need him, be it to dry their tears, or to help them with Quidditch.

A.N.: Thank you my lovely team mates, agentmopped, 3cheersforidiots, and kefalion, who stayed up late into the night to get this beta'ed. You guys are amazing. Best team mates a person could have.