HP: DnD Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Ghosts of Hogwarts

Halloween always amused Damien. In the Muggle world, it was all about dressing up in costumes, a tradition Hogwarts and the wizarding world saw as a peculiar ‘Muggle thing.’

‘The magical world and its superiority complex,’ Damien thought with a chuckle, glancing at himself in the mirror. He hadn't donned a costume, but he'd made a bit of an effort: his robes were perfectly straightened, he wore a touch of new cologne, and he'd added a small brooch. The robes were custom-made, and he still questioned if the expense had been wise.

‘I deserve a treat once in a while,’ he’d reasoned, justifying his splurge. After all, he couldn’t dress up—he was already a wizard, no costume required. So instead, he aimed for polish and a hint of sophistication.

“That’ll do,” he murmured, pleased with his reflection. But it wasn’t just his appearance he needed to check on. Part of his duty was to help decorate the halls and classrooms, but mostly, it was to ensure the festivities ran smoothly. Today, he had free rein around the castle, free from the usual restrictions professors imposed.

As he made his way through the decorated corridors, he admired the glowing will-o’-wisps and playful, eerie sounds. The latter had been Fred’s idea, while the wisps were his own—he was pleased with the balance of humor and mystery. Passing the grand staircase, he marveled at the massive, expertly carved pumpkins that dotted the hallways. Harry had explained these were Hagrid’s work; with Hagrid’s giant lineage, it made sense his pumpkins would be equally impressive.

Leaving the dormitory area, Damien was greeted by the lively hum of students gathered in groups. Today, seniors mingled with juniors, and purebloods mingled strategically, each seeking alliances and connections. Damien had learned quickly that at Hogwarts, as in the Muggle world, people gravitated toward those who could offer something in return.

“It gets tiresome, doesn’t it?” a familiar voice asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

He turned to see Daphne, watching the crowd with an amused detachment. “Pretending to care when you don’t.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be doing the same?” Pureblood social events, he thought, must require even more networking.

She gave a small smile. “I should, but being from a well-connected family has its advantages. I don’t need to chase anyone down.”

“So, should you be seen with a Muggle-born?” he asked, only half-joking.

Daphne shrugged. “What else? Sit through meaningless flattery from people who want to join the Greengrass family?” She sighed, casting a look at the others. “Or listen to seniors hoping I’ll owe them a favor one day?”

Damien didn’t answer, knowing she wasn’t talking about friendship. He, too, had seen how some seniors treated Muggle-borns, a memory that soured his mood.

“Yeah, no thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “McGonagall put me and Harry on watch duty, so I don’t really have time for idle chatter.”

He didn’t mind the excuse—it kept him from the cliques and their politics. And, with a little persuasion, he’d convinced the Weasley twins to hold back their pranks, promising them it was in return for a set of dungbombs he’d returned to them earlier.

“So, what’s next for you?” he asked, curious. “Headed to the feast?”

Daphne sighed. “I have to. It’ll be crowded, but if I don’t go, I’ll starve.” She glanced over at him. “What about you?”

“I’ll be there,” he nodded. “I promised Harry, Ron, and Hermione I’d join them.”

“Well, at least you have some friends now.” Daphne’s observation caught him off guard. ‘Friends,’ he thought, musing over how much more social he’d become without even realizing it.

Maybe it was his increased charisma stat, or maybe it was just him.

“I’m happy for you,” she added. “Last year, you were quieter, barely talking to anyone. Now you seem… brighter.”

Her comment lingered, surprising him. He had changed, he realized, in ways that showed not just in his magic but in how he moved through Hogwarts.

“Are you going to be with your friends at the feast?” Damien asked, curious if she’d be with Draco and the others from her house.

“They’re too loud—and not in a good way,” she said, rolling her eyes. Damien nodded in understanding; Draco’s voice alone could wear on anyone’s patience.

He thought for a moment, then took a chance. “Well, if you don’t mind… would you like to sit with me and the others?” He knew Harry wouldn’t mind, and while the group wasn’t always thrilled about Slytherins, they’d listen if he vouched for her.

Daphne looked surprised. “Are you sure? Potter and his friends might be uncomfortable with me around.”

He shook his head. “They won’t. Unless you are?”

She hesitated, then gave a small, genuine smile. “I don’t mind. If you’re comfortable with it, I’d be glad to.” She paused. “Thank you.”

For a brief moment, Damien was struck speechless. He hadn’t seen Daphne smile so much before, and it was… charming.

“But I still have to make an appearance,” Daphne said, looking reluctantly at the crowd. “I’ll have to go for now, Damien.” She offered a small, lingering smile. “I’ll see you at the feast.”

“Ah, right,” Damien replied, snapping out of his thoughts with a quick nod. “Let’s meet at the feast.”

She turned away, her smile fading as she disappeared into the crowd.

Damien sighed, thinking to himself, ‘Being an heiress must be exhausting.’

He understood the pressures that heirs and heiresses faced—the constant need to shine brighter than everyone else. For a moment, he was grateful to be a Muggle-born. ‘But I should focus on the real task now.’

Originally, he had planned to find Harry, but seeing the throng of students, even ghosts mingling with witches and wizards, he realized it was the perfect moment to slip away unnoticed.

‘Sorry, Harry,’ he thought, feeling a twinge of guilt. ‘But you’ll have to manage without me for a bit.’

His plans were now of a different sort. What he had in mind would certainly land him in trouble if he was caught, but the rewards, if he succeeded, would be well worth the risk. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he moved toward a dimly lit corridor, keeping to the least crowded areas where even the professors seemed too preoccupied to notice him.

Just then, a harsh voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks.

“You dumb rat—you didn’t just ruin her life. You destroyed your own!”

Damien squinted through the shadows and spotted two translucent figures. He hadn’t seen them at first, their forms almost invisible in the darkness.

“You think I knew what I was doing?” the other ghost snapped. “Do you think I’ve forgiven myself?”

The two spirits were engaged in a fierce argument, each throwing bitter words at the other. ‘Maybe I can slip by unnoticed while they’re distracted,’ Damien thought, moving cautiously along the opposite side of the corridor.

“Hold it, boy!” a voice called out, making him freeze again. “Can I never be forgiven for my actions? For my mind’s betrayal?”

Damien groaned inwardly. ‘Why me?’

“Do you know the tale of the Bloody Baron, boy?” the ghost with the half-severed head asked. “The man who killed the daughter of the woman he loved?”

Damien felt a sense of dread. Ghosts could be relentless. Since they weren’t bound by time, they’d pursue you endlessly if they wanted answers—a haunting, as Muggles would say.

“I know a little, sir,” Damien replied, hoping to appease them. “But I’m not well-versed in the details.”

“Perfect!” exclaimed Nearly Headless Nick, clearly pleased. “You’ll hear it unbiased then!”

Reluctantly, Damien accepted that there was no way out of this. “I don’t know enough to form an opinion, sir,” he added, trying to be polite yet noncommittal.

“Oh, it’s a short tale,” Nick assured him.

Beside him, the Bloody Baron remained silent, allowing Nick to speak.

“Our Baron here loved Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of one of this school’s founding witches,” Nick began. “His love was unrequited, but he remained devoted to Helena and her mother, Rowena. Through all hardships, he stood by the two women, faithfully serving their needs—even when their own family could not.”

Damien felt a pang of sympathy for the Baron but quickly pushed it aside. He had his own mission to complete.

“But when Helena stole her mother’s enchanted diadem and fled to Albania, Rowena’s heart broke,” Nick continued. “On her deathbed, Rowena asked the Baron to bring Helena back.”

Damien vaguely remembered reading about the story before but had never given it much thought, despite its importance in his house’s history.

“The Baron found her, but when she refused to return, he was consumed by rage,” Nick said, glancing at the Baron. “In a fit of fury, he killed her, taking her life—the very thing he was supposed to bring back to Rowena, and the very woman he loved ever so dearly.”

Damien felt the weight of the tale, understanding the tragic emotions involved.

“Realizing what he had done, he took his own life in shame and anger,” Nick finished. “His soul stained by both their deaths, he became the Bloody Baron.”

Nick paused, looking expectantly at Damien. “What do you think? Can the Baron be forgiven?”

Damien knew he had little choice but to answer, so he offered his honest opinion.

“I was always taught that forgiveness is something only those who were harmed can grant,” he said carefully. “Neither you nor I have the right to forgive or condemn him. Only Lady Rowena and her daughter can decide that.”

The ghosts seemed to consider his words. He continued, “As for Sir Baron, my father once told me that sometimes, even if others forgive us, we may never forgive ourselves. For him to find true peace, he would need to forgive himself as well.”

He hoped his response was enough to satisfy them so he could slip away.

“How old are you, boy?” Nick asked, taken aback by his answer.

“Twelve, sir,” Damien replied.

The two ghosts exchanged a surprised glance.

“Who would have thought a boy so young would have a better understanding of life than we do?” Nick said with a smile. “What do you say, Baron?”

The Bloody Baron looked restless. “I… I must go.” Without another word, he turned and drifted through the walls, disappearing into the shadows.

“It seems we’ll have to continue our discussion another time,” Nick said, turning to Damien. “For now, I must see that Baron doesn’t go haunting the young ones tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” Damien replied, grateful that his uninvited company was finally leaving.

“Enjoy the feast, boy.” And with that, Nearly Headless Nick floated away, leaving Damien alone at last.

He exhaled, cursing his luck. “I should get going before someone else stops me,” he muttered, heading quickly toward his destination, unaware that he had just set events in motion that he might later regret.