AN: This story is a translation from Hungarian; if your Hungarian is better than my English, please read the original instead (Binns professzor utolsó órája). I do apologise for my bad English, corrections are welcome (Send PM to me).

Professor Binns' last lesson

I love my job. I know that History of Magic is considered by many to be the most boring subject, but my pupils don't think so. They never complain, make noise or give any sign of boredom like we did sometimes when I was a pupil here. I can't have a word against them, they are enthusiastic; they are drinking my words!

If I don't have to pretend modesty, I may claim that I am the most experienced teacher in Hogwarts; and the experience gathered in so many years helps me make my lessons precise, thorough and easy to understand. But, of course, if anyone still has questions, I don't make myself unavailable; my pupils always know where to find me.

'Professor,' a little girl starts hesitantly, 'please, help me. You must know everything about the... ghosts.'

'Well, yes, the ghosts belong to the history of magic, too,' I answer, 'but isn't this topic a bit too gloomy for a young girl like yourself?'

The little one shakes her head with an air of surprise or disappointment, as if I have offended her... I don't understand how, but I try to make amends: 'Sorry, Miss...'

'Mouron, Myrtle Mouron'

'... Miss Mouron, no way I meant to offend you, but you are so young, and this topic is quite depressing, I would not offer you to get involved in the affairs of ghost, unless you have a personal reason to do so...'

'...I do have a reason, ' she says very seriously. 'Professor, why doesn't everyone come back as a ghost?

'As far as we know, only those witches and wizards become ghosts, who are not able or do not dare to move on from the Halfway.'

'What Halfway is, Professor?'

'Nobody knows what it actually is, but we can guess what it is like, from the reports of the ghosts. All of them say it is like their own world they used to live in... This fact leads us to think that the soul trapped in the Halfway creates its own illusion-world from its memories.

'Professor, is it possible that a soul is transferred to the Halfway, without being aware of his own death?' the little girl asks, suddenly frightened.

'Oh no, it is really unlikely,' I try to comfort her. 'The ghost does see the real world and the living people, too, but in a special way: for him we are immaterial, untouchable and almost transparent. Therefore it's very unlikely that he could be absentminded enough not to realise this. So you don't have to worry about that, dear... Myrtle' – luckily, I could recall her name.

'Otherwise, from the aspect of scientific research, a ghost's report about the event of his life can be very useful... of course the ghost can be wrong, or can tell lies, just like the living. I have to press the importance of "source criticism"...' that's it, maybe I could divert her attention from this gloomy topic, 'for example, most of them prefer to overstate their roles, or even... 'prettify it'... we have to be careful to get as close to the reality as it is possible.

'And the ghosts are bound to stay on the Halfway forever?' Myrtle asks, her voice slightly trembling. This question must be very important to her... most likely a relation of hers is involved.

'Sometimes, but very rarely, the soul moves on, but even it doesn't know where to. The ghosts know no more of the secrets of death than the living.'

'But why is it so rare that the soul... move on?'

'Well, Myrtle, for all we know, after the death, the body-less soul almost unable to evolve or change. It was not ready to leave our world in the moment of its death – either because of fear, or because it was entirely unprepared – but because it cannot cross this barrier, it gets trapped for long years or even centauries.

'But now, please tell me why you keep asking these sad questions.' It must be painful to the poor little thing, but anything is better than the secrecy and denial...

I can see the tears in her eyes, when she speaks up: 'Professor, I died fifty four years ago! I stayed on the Halfway because I was entirely unprepared for death... but now I would like to move on, just don't know how...'

'Oh my dear girl, please, don't upset yourself, it's a misunderstanding, please listen to me,' I try despairingly, 'you are just as much alive as myself... I'll escort you to the Hospital Wing; you'll get professional help... what a terrible delusion!' I wish I knew anything about mental problems... I'm afraid this morbid idea is symptom of some serious problem.

'The confused little girl looks at me as if she didn't understand a word. 'Professor, you did die then years ago!'

When I open my eyes, I'm lying on my bed; the little girl looks at me guiltily.

'Miss Mouron, how could you make such a cruel joke! No wonder that I lost consciousness... in my age...'

'Please forgive me! I couldn't have known... I had no idea... Sorry, Professor, but you would have found out sooner or later...

I start to worry... this little girl is so sincere... I'm sure she is serious about this nonsense. How could I placate her? Perhaps it's the time of the brutal honesty.

'My dear girl, I think your delusions are consequences of some disease or shock... I am not an expert of these troubles, but I would be happy to take you to the Hospital Wind; Matron Lyndon certainly will be able to help.'

'Professor, Matron Lyndon worked here twenty five years ago; now Madam Pomfrey is in charge of the Hospital Wing...

'Oh, sorry, I was wrong, luckily my health is perfect, I didn't need a Healer recently,' I try to excuse myself, but I can tell that something is wrong... Why haven't I ever met this Madam Pomfrey at a meal or a festivity?'

'Myrtle, please give me some time, let's discuss this a bit later,' I try to gain time, 'I shall find you soon; we will find a satisfactory solution to your problem.

Myrtle has left, the problem has not... Could it be possible...? Could I be the one who is wrong...? Nonsense! True, I tend to get immersed in my profession, avoid company; some people even suggest I am a bit absent-minded... Of course it was not so, while I had Susan with me... but since she left me alone... by that time Ted and Sue had all grown up and moved out... Since then I had nothing but my subject; I haven't had interest in anything else...

But now the third-years are waiting for me, the learning material is rather difficult: the relation between the giants and the wizards. How much pointless hatred, offence and injustice from both sides! Even my own pupils are full with prejudices, no matter how hard I'm trying... But I have to hurry now; I have never been late from my own lesson.

At least here everything is all right: my pupils are listening eagerly, and the words come to my tongue fluently... And yet, something still bothers me. Something unusual, but what it is? A missing pupil perhaps, or have they changed the seating arrangements? I have to stop for a moment to find out. I study them carefully, but I don't see any unusual: the same transparent faces... Transparent! That cannot be... It's madness! If they are not all ghosts, then... then all the nonsense Myrtle told me is – true!

I couldn't move or utter a word, I'm frozen by the terrible recognition... good thing my pupils didn't notice anything. They didn't notice anything! They seem to have fallen asleep... my devoted pupils? Does it happening in every single lesson? Am I talking to sleeping pupils since decades? I simply hoped they would listen, and that was enough to convince myself that they were listening... but actually they are present only in body... There is no point in continuing this lesson.

'Headmaster, may I have a moment of your time?' I ask very politely. 'I have a rather important question I'd like to discuss with you.'

'Certainly,' he smiles, as if everything were perfectly in order.

'Please, Headmaster, could you tell me what I do look like in your eyes?' I ask innocently, trying to control some growing anger.

'You look perfectly healthy, Professor,' he says, but without the smile this time, 'very healthy, indeed, considering your... conditions.'

'You mean considering the fact that I died long ago? That I'm not only a boring teacher anymore, but only the ghost of a boring teacher?' I cannot control myself anymore and do not want either. 'In the last ten years you couldn't find an occasion to mention this little thing? I had to found out from a pupil; I can assure you that it was the most humiliating experience I have ever had. Headmaster, I hereby resign my job; I'm sorry that it has to happen in the middle of the term, but I'm sure the pupils can sleep just as well without my presence. Good bye, Headmaster.

'Miss Mouron, I'd like to beg for your forgiveness... I was being ridiculous, wasn't I? I thought you were insane, but, as a matter of fact, I was insane...'

The sad little girl now gives me a wan smile. 'Believe me, Professor, I didn't meant to hurt you; if I'd known that you hadn't known...'

I would have found out sooner or later... after ten years it was about time... Anyway, now I can answer you original question.

She pales a bit, but then overcomes her fear. 'So you know how could I... move on?' she ask resolutely.

'Please, Miss Mouron, don't offend my pride,' I try to comfort her with a joke, 'it comes with my profession to know things like that.

'Sorry, Professor... So would you tell me what should I do? I've already said good-bye to everyone; I'd like to do it now, before I lose my courage.'

'I'd rather not to tell you; instead – if you don't mind being escorted by a silly old man – I'd like to show you.'

Sometimes, but very rarely, the soul moves on, but even it doesn't know where to. The ghosts know no more of the secrets of death than the living.