Warnings to all of you who are afraid of ghosts: there'll be ghosts doing...ghostly things. Floating around and so on.

The ghost I chose never even got a single sentence of speech in the whole series and I thus guess I took great liberties concerning his character. As you may have different characters in mind for him, he might seem ooc.

Beta-reader: Gift of the Dragons

"Abc!" - spoken words

Abc! - thoughts


Recap Chapter 1-2:

The Elric brothers still had to find a way to return Al's body back to normal before time ran out and decided to split up on their quest for information. Following a lead to the Philosopher's Stone and a strange accumulation of energy in the air, Edward Elric arrived at Hogsmeade village. After a brief introduction on magic, Edward explored the Shrieking Shack and found an underground tunnel bypassing the wards of Hogwarts. Upon meeting up with Dumbledore, both agreed on Ed staying in the castle for a couple of days before possibly going to visit Flamel's house.


Chapter 3: Haunted by ghosts (1) (words: 11734)

"... and thus I want to ask you to keep an eye on him," finished Dumbledore.

He had been walking around his circular office rather restlessly during the last thirty minutes, trying to get the silvery figure floating in midair to understand the situation. Now, finally, he stopped his pacing and turned around to look straight into the Bloody Baron's blank staring eyes.

"I can understand why you need a ghost for this..." (Indeed, he could. Who better to spy on a Muggle than someone invisible to their eyes?) "...but there are twenty of us housing the castle. Wouldn't someone less … raucous be more suited to do the job?" the Baron asked and rattled lightly with his chains for emphasis.

His emotions were in disarray. On the one hand he didn't like the idea of having to watch over some Muggle, especially for 'a couple of days'. On the other hand, however, he felt a little charmed by the fact that he was the Headmaster's first choice. It was rare that he got approached by anyone, living or dead alike, and he had been more than surprised when Dumbledore's Patronus had appeared in the dungeons and asked him to come here. He might not have known what to expect, but with the exception of the Squib currently holding the position of school caretaker... he could not remember a single non-magical being having resided inside Hogwarts. Not even once during the many centuries he had been living here.

Atoning here.

"I have complete and utter faith in your skills with the chains, my dear Baron," interrupted Dumbledore his thoughts merrily. "After having carried them for nearly one millennium I'm sure you can be as silent as the night if you want. The main reason why I chose to ask you is your … skill in controlling our local poltergeist. Even if I don't know for sure what his character is like, I want Mr. Elric to have a pleasant stay at Hogwarts. He is our guest and although he seems to be quite confident, I wouldn't bet on him staying calm and collected if Peeves was to find out that he can prank him without being seen." He chuckled then, but the Baron could detect the worrisome frown hidden underneath the happy façade.


In the end, he had accepted the task. There had been no valid reason to do otherwise as his charges of the House of Slytherin had all returned home for the summer holidays. Nobody needed to be shown to the next classroom. Nobody needed help with their essays on History of Magic or Potions. Nobody needed to be saved from Peeves... Because there wasn't anybody for him to play pranks on, after all.

Or so he had thought.

A Muggle, he mused in an attempt to wrap his mind around the new information. A Muggle inside Hogwarts.

He had lived his fair share of centuries and, except for Filch, the Squib, hadn't encountered any non-magical humans in all this time. He hadn't wanted to. He had been taught under Salazar Slytherin himself and was the resident ghost of his House. As such, it was only natural that he was grateful for his House's affinity towards pure-bloods and half-bloods; and generally avoided contact to Mudbloods.

But Edward Elric isn't even that. He is a Muggle!

It was hard for him to believe. He had seen the signs over time but refused to interpret them properly. It was known to all of the ghosts that the current Headmaster of Hogwarts had taken a liking to things that were directly or indirectly related to Muggles. Why else would he choose Lemondrops as a password for his office entrance? Or frequently go bowling, as one of his colleagues had felt needed to inform him on, a couple of months ago? It was hard to miss the increasing numbers of witches and wizards with non-magical backgrounds too. Or the fact that Muggle Studies was still being offered as an elective course. Or the Squib-caretaker. Or...

Or a Muggle staying inside the castle, he thought grumpily once again, finishing the circle in his mind. That's topping everything!

Now, one may think that this shouldn't affect him so much. That, having been on Earth for so long, he wouldn't even care anymore about minuscule trivialities such as a single human's presence.

But that was just it.

Apart from his beloved fiancée who didn't so much as care for him... there was nothing left. Nothing but the present. He knew it would be like this one day. Had known it when he decided on becoming a ghost, decided to wander this planet for eternity in a never-ending quest of redemption. At first, there was the illusion that he could use the chance to change Helena's mind. To have her fall for him. That, given time, he would be happy.

How naïve I was! As if anyone would ever fall in love with a dead man. The very man that had killed them. A soul without a body. Without a future to offer.

He had decided to stay at Hogwarts nevertheless. Near her. Showing her how much he regretted his actions. Mourning over the lost possibilities, wearing long, supposedly heavy chains to constantly remind him of his errors.

He couldn't even feel their weight.

It was her. Has always been. Will always be. For her, he would do anything. And if he had to observe a Muggle to be able to stay near her, then he would do so. Would swallow down his pride and obey the Headmaster. As a ghost, and especially as the one connected to one of the Houses, he was allowed to float through these halls.

As long as the Headmaster tolerated him, the ancient magic of the castle would as well and that was why he couldn't bring up his resentments in Dumbledore's office.

Nothing but her and the present were important anymore, and the 'present' was his task to find and spy on a very elusive Muggle.

Not here either, thought the Baron irritably whilst quickly dipping straight through the stone floor below him. He was on his way to the kitchens right now, passing the paintings on the walls in a flourish, and took another sharp turn to the right. No human that was still in the possession of a body could have taken the route he had chosen, but things like that hadn't managed to bother him in quite some time. There are perks to being a ghost, he mused, and disadvantages as well.

Apart from his non-existent love life, that never would exist, one of the 'disadvantages' he was referring to was the sight of delicious meals being prepared right in front of him. He could see the turkey over there and the mashed potatoes, the carrots, the rabbit and ooh the desserts. He could hear the swish of the oil in the frying pan, could hear the chucking of the knives, the fast taps of small feet on the ground.

He could watch.

He could listen.

But never again would he be able to taste the pie on the counter to his left, to smell the herbs in the soup to his right, to touch the wobbly form of the strawberry jelly on the table right in front of him.

Never again.

And he had enjoyed the good, extended feasts with the rest of his wealthy family when he had been alive, too. These memories were the reason he didn't usually visit this part of the castle. It reminded him too much of what he had lost so long ago...

My very own fault, he chided himself silently as he took no notice of the creatures below him hurrying to bow deeply at his entrance.

From his privileged spot above the small, yet diligent house-elves he tried to locate the one he had come to find. Average size, wearing a rag with mostly blue spots on the front – from the time blueberry cake had been splashed on it by that utterly uncivilized Peeves – male and going by the name of Bane(2). Not that he cared; a servant was a servant, after all.

The elf in question was the one that had been appointed to the task of bringing the foreigner to his new quarters after he had finished eating lunch with Dumbledore. But when he had checked there on the way, the rooms had been empty except for an old, huge trunk next to the four-poster bed, the cupboard, the small table and its adjacent chair. After not finding their 'guest' at his first try he had made a quick detour around the neighbouring quarters to see if he could be found there, but came up empty-handed yet again.

If the elf was still there by the time he left, the Muggle might have told him where he wanted to go.

He couldn't be too sure before having actually talked to the servant though. Right on cue, the nearby door to the storage rooms opened to reveal a group of five pointy-eared cooks carrying different kinds of fish. There's nearly nobody staying in the castle right now but they still give their all to create an exceptional dinner. The half-giant will probably eat nearly all of it, thought the Baron. That was another point he didn't want to focus on. Giants. Inside Hogwarts. Not to mention the werewolf! But at least that one was gone again, hopefully for good.

He cut his inner ramblings short before floating slowly towards the one with the blue spots on its rags.

The harsh rattles of his chains alerted the small creature to his presence and it turned around to greet him with his squeaky voice, rapidly blinking eyes and nervously twiddling fingers.

"Such a pleasure to meet you, Baron, sir. Is there anything Bane can do for you, sir?" He bowed so deep his nose nearly touched the ground.

The Baron watched from the corner of his blank eyes as the other house-elves took the (fresh, tasty, probably delicious) salmon 'Bane' had carried in away from said elf's working place and began to prepare it on their own, never wasting a minute.

"Yes," he said while floating to a less busy part of the kitchen so as to not have to shout over the clattering and sizzling of the pans. "Are you the one that is in charge of our new … 'guest'?"

Dumbledore had forbidden him to mention Elric's non-magical status to anyone and he could understand the caution. If anyone was to know a Muggle was present he'd become the castle's main attraction in less than the blink of an eye. But it was still hard to refer to someone he usually looked down upon as an 'honourable guest' and he had had to take a deep, calming breath before he had spoken the term.

The small creature in front of him fiddled with the brim of his rags.

Perhaps I sounded too accusing?

But it was not like he particularly cared, as his hoarse voice and gaunt face often had this kind of influence on others, and he had long since gotten used to being respected no matter what he said and to whom.

"Yes, Mr. Baron, sir. Master Dumbledore appointed the task of leading our guest, Mr. Elric, to his quarters to Bane. Did Bane not complete his duties to your pleasure, sir?"

Definitely scared. He forced down a forming grin and continued to look sternly down upon the servant.

"I have not yet decided on that, elf. I was sent to meet him but was unable to find anything except his luggage. Are you sure you escorted him properly?"

The house-elf replied instantly.

"Yes! Yes, sir, Bane escorted him directly to his appointed quarters. He even asked if he could be of any further service, sir!"

A silver line above his blank eyes rose sceptically. "And what did our 'guest' reply? Did he need any more assistance?"

Of course he did. He is a Muggle in a magical castle! And it's a known fact that Muggles need electricity and technology to survive, so it's likely that he would ask for some kind of useless and unnecessary device.

"Yes, yes he did." Knew it. "He wanted to know if there was something he could read, like spare school books."

...Huh? His blank, dark grey eyes were obscured by light silver as his lids blinked owlishly.

"The library was a mere 300 meters away, so Bane walked the way with him," continued the elf. "He was very delighted by the books, sir, even if a little overwhelmed by their amount."

"So I take it that he is still in the library right now?"

"Yes. Bane suggested to come and escort him to the Great Hall when dinner is ready, sir, and Mister Elric agreed. Is there anything else Bane should have done, sir?"

The elf still hadn't calmed down and nervously stepped from one tiny foot to the other as if he wanted nothing more than to run away and escape the scrutinizing gaze the Bloody Baron had directed at him. Fast blinking eyes fixed themselves on the ground beneath the ghost and with his head held downcast, Bane waited for his judgement.

"No, everything is alright." He was about to turn away from the very relieved house-elf at his feet and fly through the ceiling when another thought occurred to him.

"But, say, what was your impression of him?"

"Impression, sir? Bane is sorry, but he doesn't understand...Bane is not in the position to judge the Master's guests, sir."

House-elves...you always have to watch how you word things. He sighed.

"You don't have to judge, just to state what he acted like," he said in a chiding tone and was pleased to see the change in demeanour.

"Oh," replied the elf hastily once again to avoid annoying him any further. "He was very friendly. A little shy maybe and tense, but he was exceptionally polite to Bane. ...Bane wondered about that, actually, because whenever Mister Elric looked at him, he would wear a pained expression full of grief and sadness."

This was unusual, the Baron conceded, as he would have expected the disgusted and bewildered expression that Muggleborn first years wore when they met a house-elf for the first time.

But he wanted to read school books, he mused. Probably to learn magic, even if there is no way he could succeed. It must seem appealing to him what a superior being such as a wizard can do. One always wants what they can't have, after all.

He would know.

"Is there anything else Bane can do for you, sir?" came the squeaky voice from below that broke his once again depressing thoughts.

He looked down into those too big, too blue and too fast blinking eyes and slowly shook his head. Without further comment and without giving a reply, he rose through the ceiling of the kitchen and left the faint memories of smells and tastes he could no longer experience behind. Passing by armours and paintings he nodded curtly to the figures he was on relatively friendly terms with and continued on his way through walls and ceilings until he found himself floating in the familiar surrounding of the thousands of bookshelves that were the library.

He had ended up entering right through the tomes of the Divination section and glanced around to see if his target was coincidently standing in the same row. He wasn't, though, and he thus passed another couple of shelves stuffed to the brim with books on anything related to magic until he was able to spot someone standing by the books on Magical Theory.

Dumbledore must have missed to tell me that the Muggle is still a teenager, he thought irritably. 'Watch over him', he said. 'Keep and eye on him,' he said. He could have just told me that it's a babysitting job!

The moment his temper flared upon this realization, he knew his cheeks turned from light silver to dark grey. He had been a Baron when alive and, although that was long ago, people still showed him his due respect by sticking to his title. He had received one of the best educations available at his time, made sure to work hard in his studies and was very well-mannered. (Not that he could say the same about Peeves, who had been around just as long as he had. The stray-thought, however, merely served to further darken his mood.) He had been a wizard: intelligent, powerful, cunning.

To sum it up, he had been nearly at the top of the world.

And now! Now I'm being reduced to babysitting a teenage-Muggle residing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He breathed in deeply and snorted inaudibly in defeat.

Another scan around and he was angrily making his way towards a nearby armchair in which he sank down, mindful to handle his chains as cautiously as possible. He did not actually feel the pressure of the seat or backrest as he lowered his translucent body, nor could he feel their texture under his fingertips or the softness of the slightly worn material. But even after all those centuries, the basic normality of the sight of the armrests below his silvery, robe-clad arms gave him a sense of security. Of familiarity. He focussed on the feeling and, after five long minutes, managed to calm down. Slightly.

With yet another sigh, he raised his eyes off his arms and started to properly assess the situation across the room.

One would suspect that a magical castle is the unnatural habitat of any Muggle, but this specimen proved this to be false. He stood apparently relaxed and engrossed in one of the thick, old tomes that made up most part of the section, back resting comfortably against the bookshelf right behind him. His right hand was holding the heavy book, the left put inside his pants pocket for most of the time, occasionally appearing to turn a page, before quickly returning to its former place once again. Surrounding him were a few discarded books that lay scattered on the floor, some of them piled up in ways that would have Madame Irma Pince screaming if she ever found out.

An angry scoff and a loud thud later, the book that was formerly resting in the Muggle's hand had to obey the rules and forces of gravity as well – and joined its mates on the carpeted floor.

The Baron's eyes narrowed in disapproval.


Several hours later and the scene hadn't changed much: the Bloody Baron was still 'sitting' in his supposedly comfortable armchair and, even as his temper had calmed down over time, was as bored as before. The Muggle hadn't done anything other than skim through his chosen books until he decided they weren't worth his time anymore and dropped them to the ground. By now, he had chosen to sit down, right in the centre of the circle of discarded literature that had accumulated around him. No matter how much he read, no matter how much he searched, no matter how many books he picked – to the Baron it seemed as if he still hadn't been able to find whatever it was he was looking for. And he had been looking for hours and hours without taking a break even once.

If nothing else, he is at least diligent and persistent, thought the ghost before chiding himself. This was a Muggle. A Muggle who hadn't even been taught the value of books, to be exact! Or how much of a gift it was to actually be able to read. To not only be able to see all the mocking bookshelves, but to be able to stretch out a hand and take one. To open the cover and to thumb through it. To feel its weight in your hands, smell the scent that was unique to only the oldest of them... His fists clenched at the memories. Yes, he thought. One always wants what they can't have indeed.

He would know.

And just like the first time he had thought along those lines, the squeaky voice of the house-elf with the blue spotted rags cut straight through his musings.

"Uhm. Excuse me? Mister Elric? Sir?"

The Muggle didn't even so much as twitch.

"Sir! You asked me to show you the way to the Great Hall when dinner is ready. Mr Elric!"

Still no reaction.

The Baron sighed with irritation as he watched the frown on the elf's forehead increase with every moment that passed without a reaction. He could practically read the thoughts crossing through the tiny head: he's our guest so I should be polite. But he will miss dinner if I don't manage to catch his attention. But it would be rude to shout any louder. But he must be really hungry by now. Ohhh what should I do?

And so on and so forth.

He watched the silent debate for one whole minute before deciding that he had done enough babysitting for the day. The sooner the Muggle was downstairs and with Dumbledore, the sooner he was free for the evening.

When the Headmaster had told him to keep an eye on the boy, he surely hadn't meant to watch a Muggle sleep all night long.

At least he didn't specifically tell me to, so it doesn't matter if he wanted exactly that. I'm not watching him even one. more. minute.

Mind made up, the Bloody Baron rose from his floating position atop the armchair and rushed right into the motionless figure sitting in the middle of the piles of books. Well, the formerly motionless figure sitting between the books, he thought when a pleased smirk appeared on his face. Because, as soon as he had passed through his unsuspecting victim, a startled shriek had bounced off the towering rows of bookshelves.

"What on earth...?" came the yelled curse shortly thereafter.

Whilst Muggles generally lacked the ability to see ghosts, they still felt as if they had dove into ice cold water whenever they came into direct contact with them.

And whilst he didn't usually prank people, he could make an exception for the Muggle.

He was not supposed to reveal him as non-magical, however, so the Baron decided go on in his rush and pass right through the next shelf. If he was not within direct sight of the school servant, it was unlikely that the conversation would move to have him as a topic. And even if it did, Elric would say he couldn't see any ghosts around – and with him being long gone this would be nothing but the truth.

As he left the scene behind him, he thought about what he could do next and decided that a quick search for Peeves would be in order. He would inform him that he was not welcome in the east side of the castle, especially not on the third floor, for as long as he didn't give him permission. With the mood he was in right now he had no doubt that the uncivilized poltergeist would follow his orders, no more questions asked.

And then he would return to his favourite spot in the Astronomy Tower.


The Bloody Baron had not given his task much thought during the night. Instead, he had enjoyed the loneliness that the Astronomy Tower provided at this part of the year. There were but a few things that had stayed the same over the centuries and this was one of them: no students during summer break. No one to walk in on his private sessions of remorse and redemption. No one to interrupt him as he, once again, regretted the critical decisions of his life. The losses. The pain.

When dawn broke, however, he had slowly made his way towards the third floor once again. It had seemed like a good idea, when he had first thought about coming early and waiting for the Muggle as he wouldn't need to watch for his chains when settling down. But instead of doing exactly that, he was floating in the middle of the row on Magical Theory where he had wanted to take a closer look on the books the teen had chosen to discard the day before.

The very books that weren't lying on the floor anymore.

He frowned. The house-elf must have arranged for them to be properly sorted back into their respective shelves.

He appreciated that the library had been returned to its former order, but right now it only lead to increase his workload. With a grunt, he made his way to the part of a nearby shelf where he was sure had been a gap before the books had gotten replaced. The low rattling of his chains was heard when he stopped to read the titles that had been reinserted:

A Short Collection on Different Races and Their Specific Uses of Magic by Adenine Adler (3)

History of Magical Theory Through The Ages by Bob Boring

Pure-Blood – Half-Blood – Mud-Blood – Similarities And Differences by Chris Creepey

The Flow – About Possible Sources of Magical Energy by Cullen Currentius

Very Brief Excerpt on the Inner Workings of Wands by Fanny Feather

What to Keep in Mind When Using Wandless or Wordless Magic by Hardwin Handy

As the list continued on in alphabetical order, the Baron had the vague impression that Elric had merely grabbed one book after another, just browsing instead of looking systematically. He discarded the thought that he, himself, probably wouldn't know what exactly to look for when entering a room with ten-thousands of books that were written on subjects entirely foreign to him.

The Baron was moments from floating away from the shelves and looking for the armchair he had been occupying the afternoon before when he heard the door opening, followed by one pair of remarkably heavy and one pair of lightly tapping footsteps.

"Bane," intoned a much calmer voice than the one he had heard shrieking last time, "is there a section about Magical Creatures?"

"Yes, Mister Elric, sir, of course. It's this way."

He followed the sounds of the chatting noises and the footsteps as they wound their way around the zillion of bookshelves.

"Sir, uhm..." The squeaky voice of the house-elf piped up.

"Yes? What is it, Bane?"

The Baron hadn't realized this particular point until this moment, when he listened to the way the two were addressing each other. Sure, house-elves were servants to the superior race of the wizards, especially those with pure blood, but they were still magical creatures.

And thus superior to any Muggle. What did Dumbledore think when raising one of them above a magical being?

Because that was exactly what he did when he announced Edward Elric to be his personal guest.

A guest he doesn't even trust!

He would make sure to ask Dumbledore about this matter the next time he would meet him, but for now he kept on floating behind the voices.

"May I ask..."

"Yes, Bane, of course. Ask anything you like."

The Baron could practically hear the reassuring smile.

"Mister Elric wanted to read up on Magical Theory yesterday. What made him change his mind?"

He could also hear the dumbfounded silence. And the nervous shuffling of tiny feet. He could not pass the last of the shelves separating them until the house-elf was gone though, unless he wanted to break his word to Dumbledore and reveal Elric's nature.

"Well... a couple of reasons, actually. For one, I'm not that knowing on this subject either." You are ignorant on all of our subjects, Muggle! "I read that one book yesterday which talked about different races using different kinds of magic but it was very superficial. When I asked Professor Hagrid on them this morning at breakfast, he suggested I go and accompany him into the forest but then the Headmaster said that would be too dangerous."

"Yes, Mister Elric, sir! That's why it's forbidden. Even Pac, the oldest and most experienced of the house-elves working in Hogwarts, is afraid of the creatures in there. Master Dumbledore is a very wise man."

"I...suppose so."

The Baron's grey eyebrows rose.

He knows. He knows that Dumbledore doesn't trust him and that that's the real reason he wanted him to stay inside these walls.

"Well, I thought since I can't visit them myself and since my interest is picked, I could at least read up on them a little whilst I'm here. Are these the books?"

"Yes, this is the section. Can Bane be of any further service to Mister Elric?"

Thankfully, the answer was a negative.

The Baron waited another moment until the hasty, soft steps had faded a little further, before he slowly crossed the remaining distance.

The Muggle was wearing nearly the exact same clothes as the day before, looking rather small between all the looming shelves. He was still looking in the direction the house-elf had left to and was, true to its word, wearing a grieving expression on his face. Elric shook himself out of his reverie and turned to the nearest books, skimming the titles for but a short moment before shrugging and just picking the one right in front of his nose. He continued to examine it shortly, then made his way to a nearby table, sat down properly and began reading.

Not the floor this time? thought the Baron and raised a critical eyebrow.

It looked to be another long, boring day of watching, observing, babysitting a Muggle.

And this time, there wasn't even an unoccupied chair around to ease his mind.


It had been five days since he had started to observe the teenager and by now he could see a pattern forming: the boy would wake up, go to the Great Hall, eat breakfast, come to the library, study books, go for lunch, come back, read, eat and go to bed. Whenever he went from one room to another he would be escorted by the house-elf to make sure he wouldn't get lost. Because, on the rare instances that didn't fit into the schedule, that's exactly what happened. Nobody could just sit still the whole day, reading books in a dusty library without feeling the urge to move once in a while.

At least no mortal...

So, whenever the Muggle felt the urge to exercise, he would get up from the chair he had been residing in, stretch a little and trace his way back through the maze of shelves until he would reach the entrance. And then he'd run. Along the corridors, the halls, upstairs, downstairs... wherever his feet would take him. He never left the castle, though, just ran until he was finally out of breath and completely lost. His sense of direction worked just fine in the library, but it completely failed him in the always-about-to-change rest of the castle. He would then call for his assigned house-elf and return to the library to pick up where he had left off.

The first times that this had happened, the Bloody Baron had thought he needed to accompany him to ensure that Peeves or the other ghosts would not cross his path. He had followed him down into his beloved dungeons, all the way through half of the castle until they reached the top of one of its many towers. Elric had stopped there, taken a moment to catch his breath and looked all over the surrounding fields, the Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forest with the half-giant's hut, the lake and the distant village of Hogsmeade. He just stood there, watching silently as the trees' leaves flapped in the wind, as the grass swayed in the breeze and tiny waves built on the lake's black surface.

There was longing in his eyes.

And during this one, short moment, the Baron had thought that maybe, just maybe, the blond could understand his sentiments. To be able to watch, though not touch. To be able to hear, yet appear to be so far away. He did not know what it was exactly that had caused the look in the other's eyes appear but the restriction of the castle probably had him feeling caged. Maybe there were other factors that played a role too, but the moment was over and the ghost remembered that he was only here to babysit him.

And the annoyance took over again.

He had talked to Dumbledore that first night, in an attempt of getting out of the job but it had been no use. The Headmaster was incompliant concerning the topic now that the Bloody Baron had already agreed and so he had floated to his 'workplace' again the next morning. After the running had started, Dumbledore had told the rest of the ghosts that their new guest has had some very unpleasant experiences in his past life, that they should thus keep away from him so as to not agitate him unnecessarily. The best they could hope for would only be ignorance anyway.

This, the majority of the twenty seemed to understand and agree to. As always, there was an exception.

The Baron's eyes narrowed at the thought. He was currently on his way back from an encounter with exactly that ...person. After those first runs he had come to the conclusion that, instead of watching out that Elric did not get pestered by Peeves, he could just as well watch out that Peeves did not pester Elric. It would save him the trouble of rushing through the castle, chasing after a remarkably fast Muggle, whilst having a hard time of keeping his chains as soundless as possible. And, at the same time, he could tend to his secondary favourite pastime: lecturing the poltergeist.

During the last few days, this had proven to be the ultimate way to vent his frustrations over babysitting. The poltergeist's liking to embarrass, harass and annoy was one of the few things the Bloody Baron had never managed to understand in all the centuries he had known the other. Peeves was a ghost, yes, but not a normal ghost. He was a poltergeist, allowed to fly through ceilings and walls just like him and the others – but at the same time he was allowed to actually touch things. Peeves could feel the wobbly nature of the pudding in the kitchens if he wanted to. He could take a book out of a shelf and hold it. Open it. Read it. - If he wanted to.

And what does he do instead?

He takes it out of the shelves, alright, but just so that he can drop them on a student's head! He's had a millennia to grow up, to act at least a little civilized, but he has not learned even. One. Single. Thing!

He seethed so much that he decided a quick detour through the familiarity of his dungeons would be in order. Fifteen minutes later he was back upstairs again and on his daily route to the library.

As much as he had hated the job at the beginning, he couldn't say he did so anymore. He didn't like it, of course, to have been practically ordered (Dumbledore always worded things nicely, after all) to stay put all day long and watch over a Muggle. But at least the Muggle didn't do anything that would constantly remind him of his nature. If the Baron managed to forget about this particular characteristic and the foreign clothes, he could pretend to be watching one of the students, maybe even one of those that were his love's charges.

The boy mostly read all day long. He apparently had a high need for sleep and food as well, much higher than the average teenager's, and he did spend some time running, but this was what he did for the biggest part. And, most importantly, he had learned to treat the books with more respect after the house-elf with the blue-spotted rag had revealed to him that it had been his job to sort them back each time he had left a mess behind. He had only wanted to tell Elric that he was doing his best in serving him and 'Master' Dumbledore but the 'damage' had been done and the boy had never again left a single book lying around. Whatever it was that had led to the strange look in his eyes when watching the tiny creature, it was enough to have him change his ways. And the increase in caution with the books simultaneously served in calming down the Bloody Baron.

A quick glance at his surroundings revealed what he had already known deep inside: he had arrived next to the library. After all the time spent in Hogwarts, the layout of the castle had been engraved into his very being, no matter how many times the 120 staircases, multiple floors and uncountable paintings moved. Remembering where the boy had spent his time the day before, he swiftly turned to his left, passed the wall to the section on Transfigurations and stopped short.

He had come face to face with Edward Elric. But this wasn't even what had surprised him. The one thing that had let to him stopping dead in his tracks was that it seemed as if the Muggle was looking right at him.

But that's not possible!

No sooner had the thought left his mind, did he realize that the golden eyes were actually moving, eyebrows drawn together in slight concentration.

He's reading. The books of the shelf I flew through when entering.

That realization relieved him only for the short moment it took the one across from him to decide on which tome to read first, raise his right arm, grab it and go to the nearest table.

His hand went right through me, yet he didn't feel it. Didn't feel me. Me and my body's icy coldness.

But he had been able to on the instances where he had forcefully woken him from his book-love. He had felt the ice-cold chill then, had been brought out of that trance that was so deep the Baron never actually had to worry about the traitorous rattling of his chains.

What's different this time?

He frowned and, raising his own arm to the right one of the boy, slowly neared his test subject.

The silvery grey of his arm passed the fabric and disappeared from sight – but apart from that nothing happened. He waited, motionless, frown deepening with every second that he was left without a reaction.

The Baron had still not come to a conclusion on what was wrong when a change could be seen in the Muggle's demeanour: his brows furrowed and he shifted a little in his seat. A minute later, his left hand abandoned its post of holding the book and came up to rub slightly at his right shoulder.

The shoulder?

Imitating the motion, the Bloody Baron changed the position of his arm, travelling up and up until he had it at its destination.

The signs from before intensified but were still very far away from the one he would have expected to get.

Taking the experiment a step further got it, though.

As soon as he touched the boy's torso he shrieked, as usual, jumped out of his chair and scrambled away. Standing in a clearly defensive position, wide, golden and highly confused eyes roamed the room in search of his unknown 'attacker'.

"Why couldn't you feel me sooner?" the Baron asked incredulously, not caring about what Dumbledore had been saying about keeping a low profile at all, to make room for his curiosity.

"What...? Who said that?"

The teen was still staring around the room, eyes focussing in on one corner before shifting quickly to the next. His body, just as tense as his voice, was backed up against one of the tall shelves he had searched shelter from.

"I did."

Of course, the Baron knew that this kind of answer was not helpful at all but rather served to worsen things. This didn't mean, however, that he actually had to mind.

"Why couldn't you feel me when I was touching your arm? You felt me all the times before that and you certainly did just now. What makes the difference?" His voice was as hoarse as always and his disregarded chains rattled a little when he floated nearer to the boy.

"How would I know, when I don't even know what you are talking about! Or who you are, for that matter."

Or where.

The Bloody Baron stilled for a moment and regarded the Muggle across from him carefully. He figured that he was regretting having chosen such an unfortunate place between and backed up against the shelves: the rapid eye movement was giving it away. He also figured that he was scared; he managed to hide it masterfully behind that all-consuming scowl but with the practice of seeing through the lies of students for all these years, it wasn't that much of a challenge. And it was apparent that the occurrence was confusing him a lot.

I won't get an answer unless I answer first? He scowled a little himself.

"This is what I meant...," he said and rushed forward to once again pass through the boy's body, then made a u-turn behind the shelf to rejoin him. From nearly the same spot he had been talking from before, he continued his sentence.

"...and I am a ghost."

"A ghost..."

"Yes, I think I just said that." The Bloody Baron had never been a very even-tempered person and a certain edge in his voice showed just how much he liked to repeat himself. Usually it did the trick and the addressed person would get the hint to start thinking faster.

"But what do you mean?"

...What?

"What?"

This, certainly, couldn't be considered 'faster' in any sense.

The teen narrowed his eyes in thought.

"What do you mean, a 'ghost'?"

And this can't be considered 'clever'. He scowled even deeper. Even Muggleborns know what ghosts are!

"I don't think I understand your question."

If his teeth had still been solid, he would have been gritting them by now. Elric, on his side, had his eyes narrowed in thought, his head had tilted slightly to the left, and his stance was still defensive, yet less tense than before.

"I don't believe in ghosts. You are either alive or not and if you claim to be a ghost, this would mean you are dead."

"Yes, obviously. By definition."

"A dead person is, per definition, a corpse. I don't see a corpse! And I've neither met a talking nor an invisible one either."

"Of course not," he snorted, "you are a Muggle after all."

"So then," he stopped for a moment to think further, "then, if I understood things right, you are telling me that some part of a wizard's genes allows them to see...what exactly?"

"Me, as I was in the moment of my death. A little more transparent, though."

From his stunned position in front of the shelves, the teen continued to blink owlishly at his general direction.

"And... you are sure that you are dead? And still here at the same time?"

"Yes!" He all but growled.

"When did you..." he continued his interrogation but was cut off before he could get any further.

"I do not wish to discuss this with you," the Bloody Baron all but exploded. "Especially not in detail, as this is very personal. Rest assured that I lived and died a long time ago and that I am still able to be talking to you right now." He took a long breath to calm down, but it didn't help. "You still haven't answered my original question."

The teen had cringed when he had started – obviously oblivious to the storm forming as he couldn't see the expression on his face – but after the initial shock was over it seemed to give him confidence. It seemed that he appeared to have a high level of tolerance against, and experience with, temper tantrums. He stood, stance wide, hands in his pockets and head held high and faced calmly in the general direction he was hearing the voice from, but seemed to still have troubles to wrap his mind around the current situation.

It had been years, no, centuries even, since the last time anyone had stood up to the Bloody Baron like this. That was before he had perfected the special edge and applied it to his voice, before he had learned how to tune up his glare, how high in the air he should be floating so that anyone would have to look up to him – yet not too high so as to not be too close to the ceiling and appear smaller than he was. It had been before he had realized just how to hold his chains to seem even more threatening and which words to choose to intimidate even more. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington was the only one even slightly immune to his ways and thus one of the very few, if not the only, that he regularly spent time with.

Elric might not be able to see him, but in addition, he had to deal with something that all the students, ghosts and wizards never had to: he had to face something unknown, something invisible – something unknown and invisible that was apparently very angry.

With mild confusion, the Bloody Baron realized that the youth might have just gained a little bit of his respect.

"Then... these genes are making everyone stay on Earth after having passed on? And if it was 'a long time ago' and you are still this troubled about it, then there isn't even a way to be...truly dead?"

Or maybe not, thought the Baron who wasn't only bemused but disappointed as well. He didn't even listen to what I said about my original question!

"No, they don't." And he regretted to have started that talk but now the damage had been done. Also, if he decided to be completely honest with himself, he was still curious as to what could make people immune to his chill. It had been a while since he had encountered something that could raise his interest, but with the conversation carrying on he wasn't sure if the trouble was worth it, after all.

"Huh?"

Very clever indeed...

"Wizards pass on just like everyone else. Our souls just have deeper connections to the Earth's energies and we thus can … decide whether to hold onto those or fade away."

"And the decision is permanent? What about your corpse?"

"Buried, like everyone else's," he stated exasperatedly. "And yes, my state is permanent. That's why there are only very few who choose this path. We all had our reasons, though. Some naïve, some sensible, some stupid – but reasons we deemed important enough nevertheless."

There was one way that led out of being a ghost. Only one. In theory. He had heard many of his comrades talk about it, especially during the last year, but none of them had been brave enough to try. And even if one did, the rest wouldn't know whether they succeeded or just worsened their fate.

Nobody knows what comes after your soul got sucked out by a Dementor. Especially if the only thing you consist of is that very soul. And none of us felt like getting eaten sounded like such a nice alternative either.

There had been a lot of tension in the castle. Tension and fear. Enough so that is was practically palpable in the air.

Elric couldn't see his face and for that, the Baron was glad. He had opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then thought for a moment before closing it decisively. He would not ask further.

The teen had relaxed considerably at the lack of danger, though, and used the lull in conversation to walk back to the table, pick up his fallen chair and sit down. He was frowning slightly in concentration.

"So," the uncomfortable silence lasted a while longer, "...apart from the reason, how...can you choose? I mean … when? Where?"

It took the ghost a moment to figure out what he had actually wanted to ask before he continued with his tiresome explanations.

"Before 'true death' as you phrased it, everyone arrives in the in-between world or, as others might call it: the Limbo. From what I've heard, it looks different to everyone: a path into the distance, a bridge to cross, a tunnel to traverse, a train to take, a gate to pass. There is nothing else but it. Only foggy whiteness. This … "

"A gate surrounded by nothing but whiteness?" interrupted a flabbergasted Elric his story.

The Baron blinked.

"It...may look like that to some, yes. Why?"

Again, the mouth opened but nothing came out. The eyes were in a troubled haze, searching for something, but could not find it just like the hands that balled into fists without actually lashing out to punch.

After three minutes, the silent fight was won and the decision made.

"You were there, right?"

The Baron's confirming nod went unheard. He had seen the bridge.

"Yes," he simply answered instead.

"Did you... Was there... someone else? With you?"

"...Someone?" he asked wearily in return.

The existence of the in-between world wasn't anything that was supposed to be kept a secret between the ghosts. They were all questioned repeatedly upon what death was like and this was the answer. Their death was white. Their death was empty. And turning your back on it was a decision for eternity, one that every ghost that was above two centuries old had regretted. They made sure to stress this last point to save the poor soul that was asking from the same fate as theirs.

Thus, he had felt no need to hold back when answering this very familiar question.

But as far as he knew, nobody had ever leaked the information about the one they referred to as Death. Nobody except Beetle the Bard and, fortunately, people thought of his stories as fairy tales. The fact that he had added in a cloak and erased the whiteness did help to blur things further as well, but that was beside the point.

"Yes," the teen bit his lower lip lightly, "someone... a being. Just as white. Right in front of the gate... train, whatever. With an ever-present grin."

Apparently someone else had leaked. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

But just where did this boy get the information from?

"How do you know?"

And why do you want to know?

His question was met with another wave of silence, longer even than the one before. Then:

"I..." He sighed. "You wondered about my arm earlier, right?"

"Yes." A wonder that he still remembers...

"It couldn't feel you because I can't feel the arm. It's not 'mine'. Not the real one anyway."

The Bloody Baron didn't get the time to ask what he was talking about, as the teenager positioned his right arm in front of his body and used his left hand to pull the fabric of his sleeve back a good ten centimeters. He angled his forearm a little and the glinting reflections of the nearby placed lantern's light on metal flashed up momentarily. The revelation lasted for but a moment and soon enough the limb lay forgotten, fully clothed and seemingly normal on the table again.

The ghost did not know what to make of it. Surely he doesn't expect me to be sympathetic? Because that would never happen. No matter what went wrong with the arm, compared to him, the kid was still alive. And that's what counted in the end.

The Baron had never spent a thought about what Muggles would do if they ever lost a limb. He had assumed they did what wizards had been doing before the Regrowth Potion had been perfected for the first time by Frederic Fuller in the late 15th century: get used to live with the rest of them. Someone missing one limb or another was a common occurrence before then and four of his ghostly acquaintances still 'wore' the signs of the miseries and wars that had been fought.

He had never given the Muggles enough credit to come up with an idea of their own, either, but what he had just been presented with appeared to be working really well. (He hadn't even suspected that Elric had anything but four normal limbs.) It even seemed to be working better than what wizards had to wear who lost an arm or leg by the means of the Dark Arts. But still...

That was most definitely metal. And attached to a human's body, that's nothing less than abhorrent.

"What about the real one, then? What happened to it?" he decided to remark at last.

"He... it has it. The one from the Gate," conceded Elric, reminiscing.

And again, he had that very familiar look in his eyes. The longing for something that is out of reach. Will always be. The sight of it that you can only glimpse at. Because of the obstacles that block the clear view. The imagination of the feeling below your fingertips. Even when it's only an illusion. Maybe has always been.

"The Guardian?" asked the Baron to get his thoughts back on track.

The youth grimaced a little but kept his eyes fixed on the old tomes surrounding them. It was in a low, resigned voice that he answered.

"Does the name even matter? We call it 'Truth' most of the time when it's really All. Or Me. Or You. Or the 'Guardian' as you call it. Or any other fitting name..." He interrupted himself at that before finishing, "...but yes, that's who I meant."

"They say one cannot meet the Guardian and get out alive, Elric. That's why we have another name for him: Death."

Let's see, how he gets out of this one, thought a very irritable Bloody Baron. The conversation had seemed to become quite interesting at one point but it had all been a fluke. His current arm being metallic explained the earlier confusion with not being able to feel the dip in temperature. His real arm being held – what? Hostage? – at the hands of Death himself was downright telling lies. Outrageous ones at that.

He noticed the pair of grim, golden, way-too-old and (again) longing eyes that had focussed in his general direction.

For a moment, Elric just sat there, staring wordlessly at him. Then:

"They say one either dies when meeting the bastard - or they would wish to have died if they survive."

"..."

"..."

The voice had been steady, yet laden with remorse. The gaze hard, focussed and unrelenting, even if there was no one visible to direct it upon. These eyes spoke of untold stories, secrets never shared; of emotions buried long ago, always kept at bay; of great losses, never overcome – but also of determination, big enough to move mountains.

The Baron sighed. "So I must ask: do you wish to die?"

"No, I don't," came the firm reply. A change could be seen in the other's attitude and it seemed as if the determination was growing by the second and, once started, the words wouldn't stop to flow. "I can't die yet. See, it's not only my arm that is there. What was merely my limbs for me, was way worse for my brother. I'm the older one of us. I was supposed to be the more mature, the more knowing, the one to judge the risks correctly. Even when it rebounded, I should have been the one to be punished more severely. Not Al. Never Al. That night, we set out to complete our family and we only succeeded in loosing even more of it. I failed him – I will not fail him again. I don't know how long it will take me or what it will cost, but I will set things straight! I promised."

"...What did you do?"

Silence reigned in the library for the next couple of seconds, before Elric shook his head slightly and grimaced.

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore, at least. What matters is that I was the one to get things into a mess, as it was my idea. And that it's my job to fix the mistakes I made before it's too late. However, to do that, I need to gather as much knowledge as I can on the thing that you call limbo and its Guardian. You have been there. You have met it. You have lived long enough to hear other stories than your own about that place." He took a slow, steadying breath. "My question is: will you share them with me?"

The Bloody Baron regarded the Muggle in front of him thoughtfully. He had no idea how the brothers had managed to meet Death and get away alive. He didn't even know what exactly had happened to the younger one or what they had attempted to do. And even more so since it seemed unlikely the younger had magic either.

He believed him, though.

But, just like he said, maybe it doesn't matter after all.

Because he had finally realized that the longing look, the remorse and the sorrow that practically emanated off the teen in waves at times - all of it wasn't only slightly similar to what he felt himself. Instead, it was exactly the same.

Because his love for his brother was as big, if not greater, as his love for Helena.

Because they had both hurt their beloved without thinking properly.

Because they both regretted their irreparable sins terribly.

But this one..., the Bloody Baron thought with hope. This one is still alive. He may not be able to do anything in the end, but at least he tries.

After all, nobody should have to suffer through this, not even a Muggle.

And if he could make sure of it, help even a little, then he would.

And if the few stories he actually knew turned out to be of no use at all, then at least he had tried.

Mind made up, he started talking.


It was a good two hours later that the Bloody Baron was floating through the halls and ceilings again. He was currently on his way to the Headmaster's Tower for his final meeting with Dumbledore on their 'guest'. Referring to it as 'final' was a little overboard in the Baron's eyes - they had met first when he got the task, and only once more when he tried to hand it back - but there had always been a deep love for powerful word-choices, hidden behind that gleaming pair of half-moon glasses.

Or insane word-choices, he added as an afterthought when the first feast of the year speeches re-entered his mind.

He was in no hurry to arrive at the office, though. They had had to halt their conversation when the house-elf had come to pick him up for lunch and escorted him to the Great Hall. As such, the Headmaster would be there as well, leaving his office empty and isolated enough for the ghost to wait peacefully upon his arrival.

It was a room that he visited as often as the kitchens. Instead of smells, tastes and feelings, though, it was the people that he he had trouble facing. The paintings of all the former headmasters of Hogwarts.

All around the castle, there was a number of countless paintings on the walls of the stairwells, halls, corridors, common- and classrooms. And whilst they had been there for a couple of centuries for the most part, he only really knew the ones they had been modelled from for as long as they had stayed as students in the school. A headmaster stayed longer than that. Long enough to get used to their presence. Long enough to care.

And all of them died and got a painting.

Today was different, though. Today, he felt like he could bear them, maybe even spend some time in their presence and actually talk. He could not pinpoint why exactly, but he suspected it had to do something with the conversation he just had with Elric. With the memories it brought up. And with those eyes that seemed to back down from nothing, no matter how painful. Eyes that would take on anything, even bargain with Death itself.

All too soon, he was surrounded by the circular walls of the office he had sought out and by the voices that rang to greet him. The Baron responded politely, floated to a spot from which he could see them all and enjoyed the rare presence of peacefulness that settles in his chest.

It was a myriad of things that they spoke about: Dippet asked about how the ghosts had coped with the Dementors and if everything was fine; Thompson, having been a Hufflepuff during his schooldays and still very attached to his house, asked about the well-being of the Fat Friar; Anna Morgan wanted to know how his task had gone and like that, the list continued.

By the time Dumbledore joined the party an hour later, the Baron was surprised to find he hadn't even realized how the time had flown away.

"Oh! It seems like I was late for my own appointment," the current headmaster joked merrily. "Did you have to wait long, my dear Baron?"

"No, it was nothing." It really wasn't. A mere hour is nothing compared to eternity.

"I'm glad to hear that! I was having a very interesting conversation during lunch and lost track of time." He had made his way behind his desk and sank down into it until he felt completely comfortable and proceeded to talk: "I heard you had a talk with our guest? He wouldn't stop asking about ghosts, their way of life and how they could possibly talk when they have no solid vocal cords." The blue eyes were clashing drastically with the pastel orange of his robes, but the mischievous twinkle was there all the same.

So that's what he considered 'interesting' about lunch.

"Yes, indeed. What was your answer to the last question?"

"That I have no idea," smiled the old man. "It must have been one of the first things he thought about when meeting you because when I confessed about not even having ever thought about it myself, he looked like it should have been the most obvious question in the world."

Most of the paintings' inhabitants joined in with low chuckles, but the Baron didn't. Not when he didn't even like the person across him and had no intention to joke around. He was here to give a basic report and then be on his way to enjoy the student-free castle; nothing more, nothing less.

"I was under the impression that his character was more important than my vocal cords, Headmaster," countered the ghost. He could offer one civil question to 'show interest' but that was all. "It also seems to me as if you've had a lot of time to assess it yourself during your shared meals."

"Oh, but two opinions are always better than one. And he is always acutely aware of my presence so I do believe you've had a better chance of observing him unnoticed."

No need to waste any more time than strictly necessary.

"If by 'observing' you mean watching a teenager read then, yes, I had a good chance. He gets so engrossed in the books that he wouldn't have noticed anyone observing him, though – no matter if they were invisible or not."

Dumbledore didn't seem to care about that at all. Of course he doesn't.

"What books was he most interested in?"

And with that, the real interrogation started. "It was Magical Theory first, then Creatures, later on Potions and Transfigurations. I don't think he had any kind of priority system. He checked in the Arithmancy and the Divination sections too, but they didn't seem to … appeal to him."

This was a very nice way of describing the annoyed huffing against 'unscientific' somethings. It was hard to remember words that one had never heard before and the profanities leaving the Muggle's mouth when faced with the tomes had been among those. He had spent a total of fifteen minutes in each section before irritatedly moving on to Potions.

Dumbledore seemed to have gotten the underlying message, though, and chuckled again.

Not that there are many times when he isn't either chuckling or twinkling.

"I think I know what you mean, Baron. So, Mr. Elric didn't show interest in any of the branches..." He thought a moment on that. "What about special books or spells. Or when you talked, what did he ask about?"

"No special interest in any books or spells either, Headmaster. And our conversation mostly circled around what a ghost is, how it is possible for us to stay here, if we have a way to become truly dead and so on. The typical questions the Muggleborns ask as well on their first days of school," he explained, "just a little bit more advanced."

"Advanced?"

"I don't usually talk about death and the pain that comes with it in the presence of eleven year olds."

"Of course not! Anything else?"

"No, nothing of concern."

After that, it was silent for a long time as Dumbledore recapitulated what had been said. The bushy brows drew together in concentration and he was sure that the Headmaster had expected more from the espionage.

There would have been more, thought the Baron, if I had told more. But nobody who's still alive should know about the Guardian of the passage and its powers. That decision was made millennia ago. Apart from Beetle, Elric and his brother are the first exceptions to that and I will not include another.

"...He only read?"

"No, he ran around the castle as well. Never left it, never had a set destination and always got lost."

Still not the answer the old man was hoping for. He slumped down and thoughtfully stroked his long, white beard.

At last, he asked: "How would you characterize him?"

The Baron considered the question for a moment but the extra time didn't help very much. They'd only had one decent conversation so he wondered what exactly Dumbledore expected to hear. He glanced shortly to the cupboard behind the Headmaster, to a spot a little above his head where an old, worn hat was seated peacefully.

"I think Elric isn't cunning enough to be a fellow Slytherin," the ghost said. "He's too obsessed with books and knowledge and values those dear to him too much for that. However, I don't think that Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw would be the most suitable for him, either. My guess would lie with Gryffindor. He would do anything to protect family and friends, even bend the rules if necessary. I assume that he had to face a lot and is courageous but I have no proof for that."

I don't have a lot of proof in general.

"So..." started Dumbledore a little while later, "... you don't think he is like Riddle?"

"Riddle?" asked the Baron, astounded. "No. The look in his eyes is totally different. The same pain and longing, yes, but not the hatred. Why would even you compare them?"

But the Headmaster waved the question aside. "Ah, don't mind me. Just a stray thought I had and of which I'm glad you could dispose of. Just to make sure, though: You are positive that we can trust him?"

"Up until now I was under the impression that I had to judge whether or not he could be trusted with the secret of the existence of the Wizarding World. You make it sound, however, as if he was posing an immediate threat by himself!" The Bloody Baron knew he was raising his voice but he couldn't help it: the thought of a non-magical, foreign teenager posing a threat was absurd on so many levels that he couldn't even hope to count all of them. And that's exactly what he told the Headmaster.

"You are probably right..." came the answer. "What about the secret keeping?"

It didn't sound like Dumbledore really believed he was right, but there was nothing he could do to change it. On this case, the Muggle was on his own. He had already done enough anyway.

"I'm not sure. Why don't you just have him swear to not tell anything specifically related to magic?"

"As if a teenager like him would hold true to his word!" He would have like it if the other had sounded a little less amused. As it was, though, he had to substantiate his former statement once more.

"What if it's an Unbreakable Vow?"

That, at least, earned him a pair of blinking eyes, which was admittedly better, yet still not enough.

"You can only do that between wizards."

"That may be true – but does he know that?"

Because that was the whole point, after all.


Author's Notes:

Thanks for reading & special thanks to everyone that left a review! ^.^

And, well, this was fun! Today is my birthday and it's just no good to not celebrate with everyone else, so I thought treating you to virtual cake alone wouldn't be satisfying enough. A new chapter should do the trick, though. ;)

I called it an experiment earlier because the main characters appeared so late in the chapter.

Was it boring for you to read about the Baron's perspective or did you find it intriguing? I'm really curious about that! I had a lot of fun writing it, so maybe you had too – but nothing really happened so maybe you were just plain bored.

Apropos of nothing: I had originally planned to include the next conversation between Dumbledore and Ed, and the departure from Hogwarts, in this chapter but it was so loooong already. And it was supposed to be the shortest in the entire fanfiction! Guess I failed on that part. Also, I cut on the conversation between the Baron and Ed because I figured that that part would be more interesting if viewed from Ed's perspective in a kind-of-flashback next chapter.


(Number)-time:

(1) The Baron

So, I absolutely wanted to take a ghost's P.O.V. but wasn't that pleased with Helena as my original choice. And when my lovely beta suggested I take the Baron, well, I ran with it. Faaaar away. And loved every second of it!

The fact still remains: The idea of using him belongs to Gift of the Dragons.

(2) House-Elf

The house-elf was called 'Blinky' at the beginning. The problem was that this led to a cartoon opening playing havoc in my mind all day long and me complaining to my beta about it. They, however, got something different associated with the name that led to me changing the name. You'll encounter what I mean in the upcoming chapter, but until then you can guess if you want. ;)

(3) Author's names on the books that Ed read

I couldn't resist. And I'm sure you all know why I chose such stupid names. ;)

I'll maybe do it in the future whenever I need to come up with unimportant names, but people who actually take part in the story, like the Aarons or Mr. Lane, will still get 'proper' ones.

(If not, here comes the reminder:

Bathilda Bagshot, Bellatrix Black, Bloody Baron, Colin Creevey, Fat Friar, Filius Flitwick, Godric Gryffindor, Gregory Goyle, Helga Hufflepuff, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Moaning Myrtle, Pansy Parkinson, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Peter Pettigrew, Quirinius Quirrel, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Severus Snape, William Weasley, … – Anyone I missed?)


Thanks again for reading and please consider to review!

See you, hopefully, in the next chapter:

Flamel's Legacy