Breakfast was uneventful aside from Dumbledore's introduction of the new professor. Despite feeling sorry for Quirrel, Harry felt somewhat relieved that his head did not ache whenever he cast his eyes in the professor's general direction. A marked improvement, certainly, and something that brought no small relief to the young wizard given that his morning block was scheduled fully around the Defense Against the Dark Arts class that day. Following that would be Potions, then a two hour seminar by Professor McGonagall with evening Quidditch practice. Harry was not looking forward to that, surprisingly enough, given that Marcus had informed him that the focus of the session would be about putting Harry through the paces of a hectic game of Quidditch. They had a friendly match with Gryffindor in two weeks and it would not do to have their seeker freeze up beneath the whizzing and whirring of bludgers. The Weasley twins were infamous with their accuracy, rumored to be able to knock a quaffle out of the grasp of an opposing flyer.

"Harry!"

Harry started with a shocked expression, turning to look at Ron who looked at his friend in turn with a modicum of concern on his face.

"You look awful, Harry." He felt awful. That dream had felt too real, more so than the previous one after seeing the mermaid…

Ron, for how own part, had spent the night wondering about the books, parchments and the bowtruckle still hidden beneath his bed. The bag of galleons occupied less of a prime spot in his mind, though it was far more than he had ever had in his life at one time in terms of currency. No, what had kept the young Weasley awake had not been the terrifying prospect of a nightly journey through the Forbidden Forest, nor the possible dangers to himself during his upcoming 'volunteering' time in the greenhouses with the talkative Professor Sprout. Ronald Weasley was worried that he would not learn about the Old Religion with enough time to discover the nature of the voices.

Already he knew more than the average first year student regarding the traditions of Halloween or, as a few of the older professors insisted on calling it, Hallows Ev'en. Despite a difficulty with reading, Ron was pleased with the fact that he could pour over the simple texts in the library that dedicated a few chapters to the season. There were many different options or sources to believe, though as far as he knew they all seemed believable in equal manner. There were those that claimed the tradition had begun many years ago before the birth of a Jewish sorcerer of sorts called Jeshua though Ron felt like that was not how the name was pronounced. Apparently, this Jeshua had been killed by the people he had tried to educate and after spending three days buried had returned to life. Fantasy, no doubt. There were many magics out in the world, Ron had no believes that England was the only place with witches and wizards, but he firmly refused to give in to the idea that someone could die and then come back.

If there was one thing that was inevitable, it was death. A sobering thought to have while one lay awake in their bed, specially if they were eleven years of age, but Ron was not a regular wizard.

Unbeknownst to him, the voices he had heard were what some philosophers of the Middle Ages had dubbed angels. Others had dubbed them devils. All believed them to be beings of great power and influence. Ron, by a cruel twist of fate had been, as some would say, in the right place at the right time. Or in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perspective is a crucial thing in these matters.

Nonetheless, Ron was a pawn of sorts to these entities. Beings from the Other who had preyed on wizards and witches for many years, granting power and might at the expense of obedience and devotion. At some points they had been considered gods, even titans, then waning as the seasons changed and the moon waxed and waned. Now was the lowest point, and as the proverb said: 'When one is at their lowest point, the only way left to go is up.' This was something that those entities were greatly banking on.

He had also had dreams, same as Harry and to a lesser degree Hermione. Dreams of power and authority. His family, respected for the control they had over their magic rather than by the stuffy, old, and moth-riddled history of their lineage. In fact, Ron had had a particularly interesting dream, if at the same time it was somewhat concerning.

Once he had finally fallen asleep, he had found himself in his bedroom, back in the Burrow. At first everything seemed to be perfectly normal. He couldn't even remember his stay at Hogwarts, such was the nature of dreams with mortal minds.

Getting out of bed, Ron felt the soft wood of his room beneath him, standing and grabbing a bathrobe to warm himself. Despite being in his pajamas, it was somewhat cold and chilly. Down he went, the rickety stairs creaking, groaning, popping here and there before he reached the kitchen floor where his mother, the portly Mrs. Weasley, was busily scrubbing at some dishes. Odd, usually she would use an enchantment to make the dishes wash themselves.

"Morning, mom." He greeted, pulling back a chair and seating himself at the breakfast table. It was then he noticed how odd it was that despite it being breakfast time, there was no food served and ready to be eaten. Noticing now as well how the light outside warmed him yet was deep blue in color, as if it were the moon during the rare Blue seasons. A shiver ran up his spine to nestle in his head, curled up like a cat made entirely of apprehension and fear.

"Mom?" He asked softly now, eyes on the back of his mother while she continued to rhythmically scrub away. There was no sound except for his own breathing. As if he were there, but not there at all. Like some ghost that went unseen and unheard. Ron stood and crossed the distance, faltering as he realized he had just stepped through the very solid looking table, fingers attempting to rap on the surface and sliding right through the spot. He tried to hold the chair, his hand going through the wooden backing. What was going on?

"Mom?" Cried Ron, louder this time as if he could be heard by shouting rather than talking. Still no recognition. A thump reached his ears from behind, the boy turning around and seeing nothing. The door, most likely. Racing to it, he opened it wide and recoiled as the headless troll he had killed stood before him. He fell back, shuffling away and hitting his head on the porcelain sink. He was in the Hogwarts restrooms now, the memories restored and allowing him to realize that this was some nightmarish vision of his past.

"Where you not happy?" The voice of his mother rang out behind him, Ron turning to find himself in the kitchen once more. No shattered porcelain sinks, no troll, nothing. He stood shakily, fearful as he stared up at his mother. "What?" His voice felt weak, childish and afraid.

"We gave you all the education. All the love. Was our family tradition not good enough?" He did not know what she meant. What was this? What torture?

"Gryffindor has been in our blood for centuries!" She shrieked as a woman possessed. Despite there being no noticeable shift in the room, Ron suddenly felt exceedingly unwelcome in the space all of a sudden. "Gryffindor is our house and we are its people!"

Horrified, Ron watched as his mother's face turned gaunt, eyes welling up into black orbs that wept inky trails down her cheeks. Her mouth extended into a longer opening as the growing groans of displeased ancestors began to stir through her. "A snake in the garden!" She pointed at him, Ron feeling as if he were being dragged along. Flung now, picked up and crying out in terror before landing on a patchy clearing of grass with a thump. Tear stung his eyes, cheeks wet as his nose dribbled from the sheer horror he had been subjected to.

Before him, a carved stump. Rings spread wide, the tree had to have been older than most nations when it had been cut. It looked big enough to seat a whole quorum of beings. Ron stared left and right, shivering as he began to allow himself to relax, sniffing and swallowing while hugging himself, on his knees and pressing his forehead to the wooden edge.

The snap of a twig to his right startled him up, looking with apprehension before taking deep breaths. It was just Luna. He thought of greeting her but before the words could reach his lips the sound of approaching figures filled his mind. From the sudden ring of trees that Ron had not noticed before came terrible, mighty and beautiful beasts.

A lion with a mane as glowing as the gold from the dwarves of legend. A tall, loping woman whose platinum hair dragged on the floor, leaves and flowers adorning it while woodland creatures frolicked close-by her. A witch so old that Ron was amazed she was not being carried, let alone allowed to walk by herself. A man with a beard luxurious and flowing, eyes blazing with power.

Many more beings gathered around, until a single spot remained. They waited, silence reigning yet it was far more comfortable than the horrifying deafness of his previous suffering. Eventually, time passed to the point that as they had arrived, the creatures began to leave. Not a word had been shared, yet all acted as if they were always in communion and agreement. Soon, Ron was left alone and closed his eyes to wake up in his bed, in the Slytherin boys rooms.

"Mister Weasley, please focus." Professor Corvus had a half smile on his lips yet his eyes clearly revealed some irritation at having his lesson interrupted by a slumbering student. "Care to tell us the difference between a revenant and a ghast?" He stood before a blackboard, a piece of chalk in his fingers with some dust trailing down from the grip. Unlike the rest of the professors who sported flowing robes, fanciful hats or in Dumbledore's case even favored a carefully groomed beard, Professor Corvus was almost… Mundane.

The most interesting thing about him could be the suit he wore, no doubt fitted in order to maintain the semblance of professionalism though with how the rest of the students were dressed with their solid black robes and comfortable vests, he seemed as out of place as a yank in the court of King Arthur.

Ron flushed, ears blazing red as he swallowed before shaking his head. "I uh, can't professor. Please tell me what the difference is?"

Professor Corvus gave a nod and sighed somewhat loudly. "Certainly, Mister Weasley. As I was saying, the prime differences between a revenant and a ghast are those of the reason for their return to unlife. Revenants have a duty they must fulfill, not to confuse them with a yurei, since they have physical bodies and yureis do not. Ghasts are beings reborn out of malice. In life, they were spiteful creatures that upon death, reviled their state to the point that they returned to haunt the lands of their existence. Nicholas, if you would please come closer?"

The spectral appearance of the ghost floated along, nodding and wobbling his head due to the half-bang job he had received at the end of a headsman's ax. "Certainly, professor."

The professor held up a hand and trailed it through the ghosts mid section, who chortled and chuckled, earning a few laughs from the students present. A good way to liven up the mood given the dreary subject they were discussing. "Nicholas here is a ghost. Pure and simple. Rather than go on to the next stage that some humans believe awaits us once we die, he chose to remain here for personal reasons." The ghost gave a nod and floated to the side. "There are many intangible beings in the magical world. Ghosts are but a small fraction of them. Who can tell me how many types of ghosts there are?"

Hermione lifted her hand up, having read the chapters on the subject once she learned that Professor Corvus was an expert phantasmologist, as well as a renowned exorcist. "Miss Granger?"

"Ghosts form a collective term for unbodied undead. Headless-Nick is a benevolent ghost, which is one of the subcategories. Peeves is a poltergeist, a trickster ghost. In all, there are five subcategories for the unbodied ghosts." Hermione had also been feverishly working to regain the points she had lost the previous night.

"Excellent response. Ten points to Slytherin. Indeed, there are five subcategories though I and a few of my fellow researches believe there to be seven. We've yet to come up with conclusive evidence however, thus it is merely hearsay. Ghosts, poltergeists, spectres, wraiths, shades, the rare phantoms and the ever delightful to encounter… Demons." Noticeably, the classroom chilled considerably. With a wave of his wand, the professor closed the door and locked it, the new and improved security mechanisms kicking into action to essentially seal off the place from the rest of the castle.

"Yes… Demons. Terrible beings, those. They have no mercy whatsoever. They will just as easily grant you your most fervent wishes or kill you. Not swiftly, either. I have dedicated several years of study to understand them. Take my word for it. Demons are not your friends and they are certainly your enemies." He rested a hand on a covered box beside him, gently tapping the top and eyeing it with casual disinterest.

Those near the front rows started to lean back away. "Does anybody want to hazard a guess as to what is in this box?"

No one said anything. No one dared breathe, let along look anywhere near the direction of the box. Hermione's hand lifted slowly, shakily almost.

"Miss Granger…?" She swallowed and nodded. "Judging by… The cold. And the instinctive fear felt by looking in the direction of it… And that thinking about it makes us dread it even more… Is it… A demon?"

Professor Corvus laughed and shook his head, though the sound was hollow, empty of all mirth and any possible joy in the sound was instead replaced by uncomfortableness. "No, it is not a demon. I apologize to you all, I planned my little speech to make you all believe it was so. Demons are not allowed within the castle walls. Professor Dumbledore made it very clear that I was to limit my hands-on educational methods to something that would provide enough healthy respect without needlessly endangering your lives. No, this is not a demon. It is the next worst thing. A phantom."

The cold in the air lessened slightly though from what the students could tell, it was not enough to relax them. "Miss Granger, given that your fellows have been apparently struck by a collective case of cat-having-their-tongues… Would you be so kind as to stand up and approach me?"

Not for the last did Hermione wish that the professors would call on literally anyone else. Harry and Ron stared at her off the corners of their eyes, silently wishing her all the best and even more privately expressing their joy at not being the ones called out to demonstrate the lesson.

"Tell me, Miss Granger… What separates a phantom from a ghost such as our dear Nicholas here?" Professor Corvus sat at the table, one leg higher up as he continued to stroke the cloth over the box like some sort of cat.

"C-certainly, professor. Headless Nick is a b-benevolent ghost… He cannot affect the material world around him aside from talking and being seen. Even then, he is… is… i-is…" She shivered, as if a claw had suddenly wracked down her back. "He is translucent. Here but, at the same time, not here."

Professor Corvus nodded. "Correct. Five points to Slytherin but I am sure you can go into more detail."

"A ph-phantom is an invisible being. It has no voice, of its own at least. It can imitate the w-words of those it… Preys on. Drawing them close into the a-area of its ha-ha-haunting…" Hermione wished to weep, she was less than ten feet from the box and it felt like the entity within stared right through the cloth and into her very soul. She felt naked, judged, hated and mocked. "I…"

Professor Corvus tapped a finger on the cloth, the feeling suddenly vanishing away from her at the visibly stiffening of the professor's posture. "Continue…" He said through gritted teeth.

"Phantoms can haunt someone, but only one person at a time." She felt rushed, clearly the professor was drawing the phantom's attention so she could continue expositing. "They learn the person's innermost thoughts, secrets, fears. They feed on the emotions until all that remains is a withered husk." She stopped and frowned.

"Adequate, Miss Granger. Five more points to Slytherin though the final descriptors fit more the dementors than a phantom." He then pulled the cloth off from over the box, revealing a completely sealed wooden case, bands of metal surrounding the sides and a very heavy looking lock keeping the lid firmly in place. It shook all of a sudden, as if some minute beast within were slamming itself against the prison. "You cannot see them, but this box is covered in runes, warding sigils, magical signs and imbued with materials sufficient to keep even a lich at bay."

"In here…" Exclaimed the professor, hopping off the table and approaching the class. Pointing his wand at the box in question. "In here is a very upset phantom. So upset, in fact, that if I were to open the box right now, it would no doubt haunt me within seconds and slay me where I stand, before going through each and everyone of you to the horror of your colleagues and peers before eventually destroying itself from hunger and the fact that this room would never be opened again should such a thing happen!"

Needless to say, Harry, Ron, Hermione and everyone else aside from the professor were horrified at the prospect.

"You're no… Going to open it, right?" Asked a very queasy sounding Miss Dean. "Professor Dumbledore said you were to keep us safe…"

"Oh indeed, Miss Dean, however where is the education if you cannot see the beast in question?" Hermion shook her head. It was one of THOSE teachers.

"But it's invisible!" Protested another student. "Right you are! Invisible to everyone except the person it is haunting. Fascinating, isn't it? So, let's see who is the lucky person!"

Before he could swing his wand, Harry stood and cried out. "No!" Professor Corvus turned to look at the child of prophecy and cocked his head. "No? Perhaps then, Mister Potter, you have a better idea on how to educate and teach this lesson?"

Not exactly fair, Harry had been one of several students who stood and expressed their severe dislike of the lesson. Clearly, his status as the Boy who Lived warranted the spotlight. Not for the last did he wish he had been born and raised like a normal child, with normal parents and a normal life.

"I… Surely there is a better way?" Harry replied lamely, beginning to sit before the intense gaze of the professor. "A better way… Excellent idea, Mister Potter! Class, take your wands out and point them at the box." Rustling sleeves and robes hissed as the cloth rubbed together, wands pulled and pointed in a surprisingly well choreographed display. A few shaking fists, several who pointed while seating due to their legs failing them at that moment.

Professor Corvus observed and nodded. "You are to learn a spell today, class. Thank Mister Potter for the idea, as well as the essay you are all to write regarding the nature of the spell and how it can affect incorporeal entities. Repeat after me. Petrificus totallus."

The class chorused the words. "Louder now!" Louder they went though so far there seemed to be no effect. "Now… Class… With these words in mind. I shall lower the windows so that they are blacked out and there is no light save that of the lanterns above us. The phantom cannot thrive in the light. The light, then… Is your greatest ally."

Down went the blinds. The dull thumps of outside covers latching into place and then the room was bathed in the dull, flickering orange glow with the shadows dancing around the corners.

"Steady…" Said the professor, hand out to signal for the students to keep their spells at bay. "Now!" He ordered with sudden force, waving his wand and the lock popping free, the lid slamming open as the stammered cries of the spell rang out.

It was a matter of less than a second. One moment the room had been alight. The next, it was covered in unnatural darkness, young voices screaming out the words petrificus totallus, a shriek of a thousand mouths halting as suddenly as it had started and then… Silence.

"Lumos." Was heard the voice of the professor, the tip of his wand glowing softly like a small star. Right in front of Harry was suspended the phantom. A horrifying visage, one clawed limb stretched out, less than an inch away from his eyes. Harry remembered what the professor said as he stayed there, standing and with his wand parallel to the phantoms arm. "P-professor… I can see it."

"We can all see it. The spell works to petrify and solidify. Those that have no visible form are granted a temporal visibility at the expense of being unable to move. With the spells cast by all of you, I dare say we have a test subject for the next… Day, or so. Observe the figure and form. It looks human, but rest assured it is far from it. Once, maybe. Now, it is a mindless monster that preys on the weak and the lonely." The phantom had a breathtaking beauty to it. A face frozen forever in a sad, dreary visage. Like some widowed lady from the days of yore. Her dress shredded, the dark red stains on her front revealing a death both vicious and cruel.

"Natalie Silver… A poor, destitute widow from many years ago. Her husband died during the wars of Independence in America, and she was murdered after she refused to remarry. Unlike Nicholas here… Nicholas?" Headless Nick was nowhere to be seen, clearly believing the excitement to be a little bit too much for him. "Anyway…"

"Unlike Nicholas, Natalie was a vengeful spirit upon her death. She was slain, in her eyes unjustly, and vowed to reclaim her due. Laudable goals, but remember that this was many years ago. Her goals were corrupted as time passed and she found no respite. Now she is a creature of base instinct. Magic of unfathomable antiquity allowed her to sustain herself from the spirits of others. I and a few colleagues of mind found her in a mansion near Sussex once we were alerted of the possibility of a haunting." He held his wand up high and waved it, the globe of light shooting out to nestle into the candles, the lanterns and the top chandelier. Once again, the class was bathed in light.

"She looks just like a ghost now…" Mused a Hufflepuff of shockingly white hair.

"That is because we can see her. If she were allowed to continue in her hunt, we would see nothing save the withering face of our fellow students as she hopped from body to body. Now, does anyone want to know how a spirit like hers could fit in a box as small as that?" Asked the professor, as calm as could be despite the apparent chaos of the class.

For the remainder of the class, the phantom remained suspended above them, Harry having hastily relocated his seating as well as Ron and Hermione. A thrill coursed through Ron every time he looked at the suspended figure. What power… Hermione felt curiosity as to what sort of magics could allow someone to be come addicted to literal souls. Harry wondered what would have happened if his classmates had not been faster in their casting…

Snape sat at his desk, the gentle bubbling of cauldrons filling the room while the students busily wrote down their process and methods. It had been a quiet lesson, more focused on the brewing method than the learning of new recipes. Professor Snape had allowed the class to select their own potions to brew, with the goal being the exhaustive taking of notes regarding the cooking process.

Harry found himself distracted, of course. His eye of newt infusion had begun to turn into a syrup that was now caramelizing at the bottom of his cauldron. Like a shade, the figure of Professor Snape was standing before him in the blink of an eye.

Staring up, Harry blinked slowly with the clear sluggishness of someone who had, hypothetically, spent most of the night awake. "Mister Potter, you may recall that the lesson was on the Brewing Method and the value of careful note taking. Not the cleaning of dirtied cauldrons. Five points are to be taken from Slytherin."

A chorus of groans and moans from the class, at least from those in the silver and green colors of the house. Rumors had spread about the sizeable chunk of points taken from them due to the discovery of the trio and one Draco Malfoy. Whatever punishment Lucius had devised, it clearly had the blonde Slytherin crestfallen and very quiet. Draco Malfoy had in fact, been so oddly quiet that even his usual companions Crabbe and Goyle were uncertain of what to do with him.

With a flick of the wand, Snape killed the flame of the burner, the now burned eye of newt syrup sizzling as it cooled before the tip of the professor's wand tapped softly on Harry's roll of parchment. "See me after class, Mister Potter…"

The end of the lesson came sooner than Harry would have liked, and not fast enough in Hermione's opinion. As the two stood before the professor's desk, they waited in silence for Snape to glance in their direction. Oddly uncharacteristically, Professor Snape seemed dedicated to clean out Harry's cauldron by hand, his sleeves having been rolled up in order to keep the sticky carbonized substance from sticking to the fabric.

Eventually it was done, Harry having his cauldron back while Professor Snape rubbed his hands with a cloth that seemed enchanted in order to absorb as much of the filth as it could come into contact with.

Meanwhile, Harry had been stewing in his own thoughts regarding how he seemed to be stumbling through and making a mess of everything so far. He felt tired, cranky, irritated to a degree he had not been witness to before in himself.

Hermione however, was elated to be able to spend more time with the potions instructor. Her essay had been handed over already, given a high mark due to the clear remorse she showed in the section regarding the rules she had broken. Unlike Harry, she had been having an excellent day. Her education was interesting, attention grabbing and best of all, not boring.

Counterintuitive as it might be, somethings could be interesting and boring at the same time. History is fascinating, but the study of it can send even the most disciplined of minds into a comatose state if one is not careful. Magical history, given its quasi fantastical nature, held a most extraordinary point of interest for the young witch.

She did wonder what else there was that she could learn…

It seems this story has made its way into the archives of FanFiction. This is both an honor and an unexpected turn of events.

Feel free to continue reading, reviewing and sending me positive messages. I admit to feel a tad rusty so if there is something you believe can be improved let me know as soon as you can.

Ours is a good following. This is a good story and I will see to it that it is read by many more members.

Let's see if it can become the mirror twin of "My Immortal"… Fanfiction is genuine writing. It is creative and it is clever, and for us to be associated to such a piece of literature is less than encouraging.