The table stretched away before Harry, filled with food and drink. He wan't hungry though. He was, in fact, doing his level best not to hurl. An almost unbearable stench filled his nostrils and his eyes watered in protest. To call the food ripe would be like describing Dumbledore as a bit tricky, and he was quite sure that if Daphne were here, she'd have insisted on burning every article of clothing afterwards, before vanishing the ashes, and bathing for a whole day, preferably in phoenix tears.
"So, Lord Slytherin. Tell us more about the young ghost in question." Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington floated halfway down the table. To his sides and around the table floated ten other ghosts, including the baron, the grey lady, and the fat friar.
Harry fought down his gag reflex and stood straighter. "Angelystor is a muggleborn witch murdered in the 1500's by a local muggle noble whom she was romantically engaged with. She has been bound to a tree in the graveyard she died in for the last five hundred years. She was newly pregnant when she died."
The grey lady bobbed down to the table and floated through a putrid chicken.
"You say she is bound," Sir Nick commented. "How do you propose to move her here? Will you replant the tree?"
"I would prefer not to do that. It is a very old tree, but if necessary it could be done."
"So how do you plan to do otherwise?"
"I know of a ritual that can transfer the bond to a sympathetic object, which I would then bring here."
That caused a murmuring up and down the table.
The fat friar brought a thoughtful hand to his chin. "I don't recall the name Angelystor. What house was she in?"
"She wasn't a Hogwarts student, I believe she went to the Shoe."
Sir Nick scoffed. "Then why bring her here? Why not send her to the Shoe if she's lonely."
"I am her friend. The first one she's had for two hundred years. And despite her not being a student here, she knew of it through song and story and has longed to float the corridors for many centuries. Does one need a good reason to extend the hand of friendship and compassion to one tragically cut down in the prime of their youth?"
He looked towards the grey lady who glared at the bloody baron with cold, dead eyes.
"Well spoken in my opinion," chortled the fat friar. "I say we give the young ghost a chance."
Sir Nick didn't look impressed. "Regardless of the merits of the proposal itself, to which I still remain unconvinced, I can only admit I find it difficult to support a petition brought in by a man who hides behind a mask." He sounded bored. "It goes against everything my house stands for."
Harry frowned, although obviously the ghosts couldn't see that.
The grey lady said nothing and just continued to glare at the baron.
The other ghosts muttered among themselves.
The fat friar rose a little. "A call to vote then! All those in favour."
Five ghostly hands rose.
"All those against?"
Six hands rose, Sir Nicholas's and the grey lady's among them. Harry made a quick list of names and faces and shoved it into his mind scape's library.
"Then the request is denied. Sorry about that, Lord Slytherin. Please try again next century."
...
Harry stalked out of the ghost's council chamber and immediately spotted Daphne, waiting patiently by the next large oak door.
"No luck then?"
Harry walked over to her side. "No, not this time. What the hell are you supposed to bribe ghosts with?"
Daphne shrugged. "Then what do we do, now?"
Harry smirked. "Go ahead anyway and make it up as we go along."
Daphne groaned.
...
The final week of term arrived and snow piled up around the castle, deep enough for enthusiastic students to make their own miniature snow castles, and wage snowball war for the snowy grounds with the surprisingly large canon of snowball magic.
Inside a familiar empty classroom, Hermione stood in front of her sitting semi-circle of students, wearing a thick winter cloak lined with niffler fur. Justin, Sophie, Kevin, and Dean also wore their cloaks, but theirs weren't charmed and runed like hers. None of them had yet learned warming charms and none of them looked very happy about it.
"S'damn cold." Kevin muttered.
On the wall beside her, Portrait Elizabeth shook her head and smiled.
Hermione conjured a bluebell flame in a jar and handed it to Kevin, getting a thankful look in return.
"How is it that you've learned so many spells already? Where do you find the time?" asked Dean.
Hermione conjured a second bluebell flame jar and handed it to Justin. "Occlumency, mostly."
"What's that?"
Justin snorted. "It's this amazing awesome mind magic that most of our classmates learn before they come to school that lets them memorise everything really fast, learn really quickly, and stops mind readers knowing what colour your underwear is."
Sophie blushed.
Dean's eyes widened. "I need to learn that."
Kevin handed his jar to Sophie and took the next bluebell flame jar Hermione conjured with a thankful nod. "But it takes years to learn and they don't teach it here."
Dean eyed Hermione thoughtfully. "You knew you were a witch since only three years ago, right? It would still be useful to know it by our third year."
Sophie, Dean, Justin, and Kevin all looked at each other. Then they turned to her.
Hermione hesitated. In truth she knew that using Harry's secret teaching method, they could probably catch up to their peers in just two to four months, and be well beyond that in another three to six. But the magic wasn't her's to promise and she didn't know any other teaching method. It might even be Slytherin family magic. She conjured a final bluebell jar and handed it to Dean. "I can't promise anything, but I'll ask and have an answer by the start of next term."
They all nodded.
"So," Sophie kicked her legs back and forth, holding the bluebell flame jar, and warming her hands. "What are we going to learn about today?"
Hermione took a piece of chalk and wrote on the board. 'LESSON THREE - SCHOOLS AND CHRISTMAS IN THE MAGICAL WORLD.' She turned back to the others with a swish of her fur-lined cloak. "We'll talk about the other wizarding schools in Britain, but since this is our last lesson before Christmas I thought we'd also cover some of the traditions wizards follow now and in the past."
They all nodded.
Portrait Elizabeth cleared her throat. "There are three other schools in Magical Britain. I didn't go to any of them, obviously, but I did serve on the board of St. Georges School of Magic in London. That one's the newest, and we call it 'the box' because it's just a large red-brick building, hidden from the muggles, near the docks."
Sophie put her bluebell flame aside and took out her ever present muggle notebook.
"Then there's 'The Cornwall Academy' or 'the windmill'. No prizes for guessing why it's called that."
Sophie put up her hand.
"Yes, Dear?"
"Wouldn't it be hard to fit a boarding school into a windmill?"
Elizabeth smiled. "Magic, Dear."
"Oh." Sophie reddened.
"And finally, there's Madam Goose's Home for the Magically Gifted." Elizabeth sniffed. "We call that one 'the Shoe'."
Kevin tilted his head. "Why's it called that, then?"
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "I did say no prizes, young man."
Dean's eyes widened. "Seriously?"
...
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