The Greedy Frog
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HP: DnD Chapter 25
🕑 Added 2024-11-27 19:31:49 +0000 UTCChapter 25: Trouble in Halloween
[Nighttime — Hallway of Ravenclaw]
“Need to hurry.” Damien dashed through the empty hallway, racing toward the event as fast as he could.
The dinner was about to begin, and with it, the Halloween festivities.
Most of the decorations and attractions were already in place, but events like the Halloween dance and the headmaster's speech had yet to start. Not wanting to let Harry shoulder all the responsibilities, and to make at least a brief appearance, he quickened his pace.
“Isn’t that…?”
But his steps slowed as a look of displeasure and worry crossed his face.
All because of a single sight.
‘The Bloody Baron.’ Damien grimaced, knowing the ghost would likely waste his time with long-winded tales, as he had before. Avoiding the Baron would be a tempting option, but if he tried to turn back now, the ghost would notice, and there was no time for detours.
With a resigned sigh, Damien bit his lip and walked straight ahead, hoping the Baron wouldn’t delay him.
But ghosts—beings untouched by the concept of time—were rarely considerate of others’ schedules.
“Boy.” The voice Damien had hoped to avoid called out. “We meet again.”
Damien wanted to slip past without a word, avoiding both the Baron and the familiar woman beside him—a ghost he had often glimpsed over the past year.
“Ah, Sir Baron.” He wasn’t quite sure how to address the man, knowing him only as a powerful ghost rather than a professor or familiar figure. Settling on ‘Baron’ with an honorific seemed safest.
“Off to the Halloween dinner?” the Baron asked, smiling in a surprisingly serene way.
“Yes, Sir Baron,” Damien replied, “although I am already running a little late.”
“Oh?” The ghost’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Then, I don’t suppose you have time for a little chat.”
“Unfortunately.” Damien offered a polite, if insincere, look of regret.
“Then I won’t take much of your time.” The Baron glanced toward the woman beside him, whose eyes, Damien noted with surprise, looked red and puffy even in death. “But I wanted to thank you.”
The Baron rose, looming over the young student. “Your words helped me in ways I had not thought possible.”
Damien was curious but kept his focus on the time. He had a feeling the Baron wouldn’t delay him too long.
“You gave me the courage to speak to someone I once couldn’t.” The Baron turned to the woman, and Damien recognized her as the Grey Lady.
‘So, she was the one he killed in his rage,’ he thought, recalling fragments of ghostly lore he’d never been deeply interested in.
“You’re a Ravenclaw.” The woman’s voice was gentle. “It’s heartening that one with Ravenclaw’s values helped us.”
Damien recalled that Nearly Headless Nick had mentioned the Grey Lady was Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of Rowena, the founder of House Ravenclaw.
Though she was a ghost, she was still a figure worthy of respect.
“I’ve always been proud to be chosen for Ravenclaw, Lady Ravenclaw,” he said.
Helena smiled. “It’s been a long time since anyone addressed me as anything other than the Grey Lady.” She looked at the Bloody Baron with a soft expression. “It feels… nice.”
Damien noticed the Baron’s gaze toward her was warm, almost loving. Though aware of their tragic history, Damien chose not to dwell on it.
The Baron seemed calmer, more composed than ever.
“We ghosts cannot pass on to the afterlife, even with our regrets resolved,” the Baron explained. “But if freedom were possible, I would be free now, thanks to you. You helped me forgive myself.”
“Thank you,” Helena added softly, “for helping me see the truth and understand my own failings.”
Damien was taken aback. He hadn’t intended such profound impact, yet felt a quiet satisfaction at having helped.
“What is your name?” Helena asked, glancing at the Baron. “We can’t keep calling you ‘boy.’”
“Damien Butler, Lady Ravenclaw,” he said, “a second-year student, sorted into Ravenclaw.”
“Damien Butler,” the Baron repeated with a pleased nod. “Godric Gryffindor was right to fight for the education of Muggle-borns at Hogwarts. Many of our finest students have come from Muggle families. You, too, have shown wisdom beyond your years.”
“Don’t mind his phrasing,” Helena said gently. “He means no offense; he’s just… not the most eloquent.”
Damien wasn’t bothered. To him, all the fuss about blood purity was no different from the prejudices he knew existed in the Muggle world.
For him, power and knowledge held more weight than heritage, magical or otherwise.
“It’s quite alright, my lady,” he replied. “I’m honored to have your recognition.”
Helena gave him a warm smile. “You’re wise beyond your years, Damien. And please, call me Helena. I may be Rowena’s daughter, but now I’m only a ghost wandering these halls.”
“Then you may call me Phillip,” added the Baron. “It’s been centuries since I was addressed by my real name, and I’d gladly hear it again.”
Damien nodded, unexpectedly pleased with how the conversation had gone.
“Then I shall take my leave, Lord Phillip and Lady Helena.”
The two ghosts exchanged an amused glance but respected his use of formal titles, understanding his discomfort in addressing them too casually.
“If ever trouble finds you, and a ghost might be of aid,” Phillip said, “just call for me. I shall come.”
“As will I,” Helena added. Then, as if recalling something, she said, “There may even be something else I can give you.”
Both Damien and Phillip looked at her with interest.
“But, since you’re in a hurry,” she continued, “we can meet after Halloween. I’ll share it with you then.”
Though curious, Damien nodded. “I’ll look forward to it, Lady Helena.”
With that, he hurried off to the event, feeling a new sense of gratitude for the spirits who had left him with unexpected promises.
…
…
[Late Night — Great Hall, Hogwarts]
Harry glanced periodically to his side, as did Hermione and Ron, each of them subtly tracking the table nearby. Harry had been wondering where Damien had been lately, but spotting the new addition at their table, he figured Damien was probably with her.
“This is definitely an upgrade from the usual soup and potatoes they serve,” the girl remarked with a soft laugh, to which Damien nodded, clearly in agreement.
“I wonder why they don’t make food like this every day,” he mused. “It would only take a spell or two.”
“I heard at home that Hogwarts employs its own kitchen staff,” Daphne, the girl sitting beside Damien, replied thoughtfully. “Maybe magic isn’t used regularly so they can keep their jobs—noble cause, terrible food,” she finished with a wry smile.
The group murmured in agreement. While the intent was respectable, no amount of reasoning could fully justify the bland meals they endured most of the time.
The five of them—Harry, Hermione, Ron, Damien, and Daphne—continued savoring the feast, an array of rare and exquisite dishes that were common in pureblood households but almost unheard of for muggle-born students like Damien and Hermione, or even some purebloods from less affluent families like Harry and Ron. The flavors seemed all the richer after so many days of mediocre fare, and they enjoyed each bite.
As they ate, they swapped stories and laughed, reliving amusing and memorable events from the past year they had spent together.
“It’s still a bit surprising that the girl who barely talks is joining us at the table—” Ron started, only to receive a quick elbow to the ribs that nearly made him spill his food. Daphne, however, just chuckled.
“I prefer to be approached rather than doing the approaching,” she said in a mock-sad tone, her expression slightly dramatic. “Which, sadly, very few do.”
Damien shot her a look, clearly entertained by how different she acted in public compared to when it was just the two of them. He was amused at her polished, aristocratic demeanor, a trait he had observed in other heirs and heiresses of pureblood families. But among them all, Daphne stood out as particularly composed and suited to her role.
“Besides,” Daphne continued, glancing off to the left, “not everyone of our house is good company.”
Everyone followed her gaze and spotted Draco Malfoy loudly berating a muggle-born student who had accidentally scuffed his shoe. Draco’s sneering comments about bloodline were unmistakable.
“We should—” Harry began, rising slightly from his seat, but Damien placed a calming hand on his arm.
“It would only make things worse for him, Harry,” Damien advised, recalling how Harry’s well-intended interference sometimes escalated situations.
“But—”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” Daphne interjected gently. “The headmaster is here.”
At her words, they turned their attention to the stage, where Dumbledore had stepped up to the podium, his grandfatherly smile beaming.
“A very late, but heartfelt, Happy Halloween to you all,” he greeted, his eyes twinkling. “I trust everyone is enjoying the food and atmosphere?”
The students nodded eagerly.
“Wonderful, because the festivities are far from over,” Dumbledore continued. “I know it’s past bedtime for many, and perhaps a few of you are starting to feel sleepy,” he added, noting the drooping eyelids around the room.
“Anyone who wishes to turn in is welcome to do so,” he said warmly. “But for those who wish to stay, let me remind you—only on Halloween is the curfew lifted. So tonight, feel free to enjoy to your heart’s content!”
A cheer went up from the tables, and Damien and his friends smiled, thinking it would be an exciting night.
‘Well, it looks like this Halloween might actually be peaceful for once,’ Damien thought, savoring the moment.
But his hopes were immediately dashed by the sudden, echoing slam of the main door.
“Headmaster!” It was Hagrid, looking alarmed. “There’s a kid been petrified in the garden! You’ve got ter come quick!”
In an instant, Damien’s dream of a calm, enjoyable Halloween vanished, as the night took on an all-too-familiar sense of dread.
After all, peace was a rare commodity at Hogwarts.
