As he stood in the fogbound cemetery, Harry shivered, although it really wasnt cold. He approached the headstone with dread, feeling silly for being afraid. A cold tendril of mist crept up his pantleg as he set foot on Snape's grave.
As this sensation crept up across his thigh, he became aware of a presence behind him, and a gust of breathe in his ear. "Hhhharrrry..." the disembodied voice assaulted him with it's salacious, resonant whisper.
He jumped, dropping the blood-red roses, piercing himself on a thorn in the process. He spun around, and saw... no one. With a nervous laugh, he said aloud "what is with me, anyway? I am not afraid of ghosts."