Chapter 31: Conversation in the Headmaster's Office
Night fell over Hogwarts.
In the Great Hall, the teachers sat at the guest table for dinner. The clinking of knives, forks, and goblets filled the air a symphony of friendly conversation.
Professor Snape, master of Potions, and Professor Quirrell, teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts, were whispering to each other now and then, exchanging knowing looks an oddly harmonious display of collegial rapport that left others watching in silent astonishment.
Owls swooped down through the skylights, landing along the length of the Great Hall's long table.
Harry received a mysterious, long, and narrow package sleek, straight, with a distinctive tail. It was wrapped neatly in brown paper, and attached to it was a note:
"Do not open this here. Contains a Nimbus 2000.
I don't want anyone to know you've got a new broom.
Professor M. McGonagall."
Harry couldn't contain his excitement. He handed the note to Ron, who immediately went wide-eyed.
"A Nimbus Nimbus Two Thousand!" he blurted out, then quickly realized they were still in the Great Hall. Lowering his voice, grinning from ear to ear, he whispered, "That's a Nimbus 2000! I've never even touched one! Keep the letter safe! Don't let anyone else find out!"
"Come on," Ron urged.
"Without finishing dinner?"
"Dinner? Who can think about dinner now?"
Ron leapt up from the bench, clutching the parcel. Harry followed but after a moment's hesitation, he turned back and pocketed a few meat pies before running after him.
They slipped out of the Great Hall, hoping to reach the Quidditch pitch before full dark to unwrap it in secret, maybe even try flying it.
"New broomsticks, new broomsticks…"
"Nimbus! Nimbus 2000!"
From the table, Seamus and Dean watched the two leave, sharing wry smiles and exchanging a wordless look part envy, part amusement.
Their dormitory was meant for five. But lately, it felt like they were being pushed out of it.
They both turned to Neville, who continued eating normally.
"…"
Mouth full of bread, Neville looked puzzled and unconsciously glanced toward Hermione.
Hermione pursed her lips and said nothing, lowering her head to cut her steak carefully, her expression calm and composed.
Boys will be boys, she thought. Always distracted by the silliest things.
Just the night before, Malfoy had challenged Harry and Ron to a midnight duel and they'd actually believed him. No matter how she tried to stop them, they'd insisted on going. In the end, it wasn't Malfoy who showed up, but Filch the caretaker and his cat.
If they hadn't been lucky enough to escape, they'd have been expelled on the spot and riding the train home by now.
As she chewed thoughtfully, Hermione couldn't help recalling what she had seen that night the monstrous three-headed dog and the trapdoor beneath it.
Why was there a three-headed dog in the school?
And what could possibly be beneath that trapdoor that needed guarding?
"No, no, that would break school rules…" she muttered, shaking her head to push the thoughts away. Yet curiosity gnawed at her again and again like a game of whack-a-mole she couldn't win.
What's hidden down there?
Night deepened.
Melvin returned late, carrying two boxes of ice cream one chocolate, one lemon from Florin's Ice Cream Parlor in Diagon Alley. Professors received discounts there with facial-recognition charms.
He turned right after the staircase, walking down the corridor until he stopped before a massive stone sculpture of a grotesque monster. Melvin gazed at its fearsome form and said, "Cheese, Olaf!"
With supernatural agility, the crouching statue sprang aside. The wall behind it split open, revealing a spiraling staircase that moved on its own like a Muggle escalator, only circular.
Melvin ascended the steps to the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor, arriving before a heavy oak door with a brass knocker.
The night grew darker still.
In the reception chamber of the Headmaster's office, steam rose from a teapot on the desk, misting the silverware with a faint white haze.
An old man sat behind the desk, brows furrowed in thought. Before him sat two translucent figures silvery-white with a faint bluish glow.
To the left was the ethereal Lady Grey, dressed in a simple gray gown. Beside her, wrapped in blood-stained chains, sat the Bloody Baron her murderer.
Fawkes the phoenix nestled quietly within the folds of the Sorting Hat, his head resting on its brim, eyes fixed on the guests. The Hat twitched twice, as though it wanted to speak but dared not.
That evening, during dinner, Peeves had caused yet another uproar something involving… excrement and chaos. The students had been disgusted, but powerless. Dumbledore intervened swiftly, not to punish him, but to ask the poltergeist to deliver an invitation to summon Lady Grey and the Baron to his office.
Lady Grey had been deeply reluctant to attend alongside her killer, but she came out of respect for Dumbledore.
The Bloody Baron, however, tormented endlessly by guilt, welcomed any chance to be near Helena again.
At that moment, Lady Grey was answering one of Dumbledore's questions about ghosts.
"After death, wizards may cling to the mortal world," she explained softly. "Their emotions regret, resentment, or the refusal to accept death can bind their souls here. A wizard's emotions and spirit are magical, and that magic caught between life and death can take on a translucent form, lingering in the places they once lived."
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Yet I have witnessed powerful wizards some full of bitterness who did not remain behind as ghosts."
"I'm not certain why," murmured Lady Grey. "Perhaps it depends on the time of death. Some souls are in tune with the magic of the full moon, others the waning moon, or the sun. They must die at the proper moment to transform.
"Or perhaps it's the place. Certain locations possess their own enchantment like Myrtle, who died in the bathroom. The magic of Hogwarts itself might have bound her unintentionally."
"They're only speculations," said the Bloody Baron quietly. "Guesses once made by my lady's mother."
"Did Lady Ravenclaw truly study the nature of the soul?" Dumbledore asked.
"No conclusive results," Lady Grey replied. "No one knows if a soul long gone could ever become a ghost again."
She hesitated, her spectral gaze resting on the old headmaster. She wanted to say more, to offer a warning, but only sighed instead.
Dumbledore took a slow sip of cooling tea. "These questions are personal curiosities of mine," he said. "But that's not the main reason I summoned you. I wished to speak about Lady Ravenclaw's diadem."
Both ghosts looked sharply at him. "You've found it?"
Dumbledore nodded. "With Professor Lewyn's help. It was hidden within the castle. Forgive me for not returning it or showing it to you yet it has been corrupted by Dark Magic, transformed into a vile vessel. I have not yet found a way to cleanse it."
The two ghosts exchanged uneasy glances, but before they could respond, soft footsteps echoed from the corridor outside.
"That will be all for tonight," said Dumbledore calmly. "I'll keep you informed of any progress."
"Please, Dumbledore," Lady Grey whispered, her voice trembling.
"Headmaster…" The Bloody Baron began, but could not finish.
As they turned to leave, Lady Grey stopped suddenly at the door, eyes full of sorrow and regret.
"Ghosts are not a continuation of life," she said. "They are a form of torment. Dumbledore don't make a decision you'll come to regret."
"I understand…" Dumbledore said quietly.
(End of Chapter)