"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.

"Can't you–?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, page 124

Of Blunt Axe and Lady Fair:
Nearly Headless Nick

It was midnight, the moment which was neither one day or another but a time trapped between as if pressed in the middle of two worlds. The horizon glowed a sorrowful blue, yet the heavens were ebony as though blackened with ash, the moon hiding her face behind it. For the man standing beneath the twisted branches of a tree once struck by lightening, it was morning. Or rather, the morning was about to begin, and he waited for it to do so with anxiety thrashing at the sides of his stomach. To any eyes which decided to look upon him then, his face would have been as placid and collected as it had the ability to be at any time. Yet he knew how to control his fears, and to suppress them until they did not control his features, for men, like hawks, easily noticed the signs of uncertainty upon someone who they looked to with hope.

The stars began to fade ever so slightly, as if the ash had been carried by wind across them and coated them with a thin layer, and the man turned from the sky. It was the morning of the thirty-first of October, and the calm before the storm began had been broken.

"Sir Nicholas? A word, if you please."

The man–Sir Nicholas–turned to look at the shadowed face of another knight. He nodded toward him and leaned forward, for he knew their voices must be soft.

"Have you a plan to be executed for the coming battle?" His eyes were expectant, yet clouded with worry.

"Could you expect anything less from me, Benjamin? Come, let us convene."

Sir Nicholas smiled, though the warmth did not pass further than the corners of his mouth, and steered Sir Benjamin to a pile of embers which had almost turned to ash. They had been allowed nothing more, for fear that even the smallest of flames would endanger their secrecy. Had it not been nearing winter, even embers would have been forbidden. What little warmth they provided was still enough to draw a cluster of men to it through all hours of the night.

That morning, however, there were large gaps in the usually tightly-knit circle. Sir Nicholas supposed they had drifted off to places in which they could reflect alone, or merely rest without the burden of another man beside them. And this he could understand, for he had spent the last hour of the night in the company of no one but the hidden moon.

The pair of knights drew themselves into the most remote point to which the smouldering heat would reach, sitting upon an old log whose branches–now stumps–protruded comfortably into their legs. As Benjamin seated himself, Nicholas murmured inaudibly beneath his breath, and at once, the log was smooth. Benjamin glanced at it for a moment, seeming as if he was about to touch its surface.

"Magic," he sighed, nigh wistful. "I still cannot believe–no, listen to me not. It is you who must speak." He ran a gloved hand through his hairline.

Nicholas was silent for a moment, as he recalled their task and reassessed the decisions he had made before he spoke them aloud. One week prior, the lady of the castle–whom, upon being bound in matrimony, would become queen–had been snatched from her private quarters, and in her place had been lain a note. A note which proclaimed her as a hostage of a neighboring kingdom with whom at one point in history they had been particularly hostile. And thus such belligerence between them still had caused the king–a proud yet noble man–to disregard the note's instructions, and to instead send forth his knights for the rescue of his daughter.

Sir Nicholas was a knight much admired by His Lordship. Brave, was he, whose courage surpassed that of many a man. It was upon a personal favor that he now watched the stronghold which held her from afar.

"Bring her home to me, Nicholas," he had beseeched, clasping his bejeweled fingers about the knight's firmly. "It is you whom I know I may trust to do so."

"My Lord," Sir Nicholas had murmured as he bent upon one knee.

And so it was but King James and one other man who knew that he himself was not an ordinary man at all.

The embers played at the expression in Benjamin's eyes, for nearer to them he had unconsciously bent to hear the words of Sir Nicholas. The latter knight sighed.

"This shall not be a gentleman's battle," he said, suddenly hoarse, "for we are to have the upper hand."

"And what is that to be?" Benjamin eagerly inquired.

As an answer, he first pulled the wand from his pocket, before hidden, then met the gaze of the other man. "We cannot lose."

When nigh each footstep they would take had been discussed between the, the men parted to inform their comrades of the plan.

As the sun began to pull its way above the horizon, the knights formed a cluster as they mounted their anxious steeds. Sir Nicholas and Sir Benjamin pulled their mounts from amidst the others and galloped to the front.

"Knights!" cried the former as his hand rose into the air. "Comrades! Friends! We prepare for battle in the noble name of our king. Some of you may perish in the name of our king. But for brave men as ourselves, this is the most noble thing of all!"

A cheer was let forth from the mass in response to this statement. Their armor flashed in the slowly rising sun.

"We shall slay our dragons!" he continued. "And we will bring our princess home!"

With this and thoughts of glory in mind, the knights dug their heels into the sides of their mounts, urging them forward and into a heavy gallop. The hooves of that of Sir Nicholas pounded upon the barren ground, and cyclones of earth were created beneath them with each stride. The fortress ahead grew closer, until at length the very parapets atop the formidable walls could be seen. He took a moment to glance at Sir Benjamin, who nodded.

Nicholas and Benjamin had been companions even in the unruly years of boyhood. Since first they had crossed wooden training swords, it became a dream that they would one day battle together as allies, and as knights. That they might one day serve the king was stimulus enough for the vigorous training they underwent.

Before they had decided upon their purpose, fishing and swimming in the pond had sufficed to content them. And then Nicholas had received his Hogwarts letter, and to the dismay of Benjamin, he was herded off into the entirely different world that was his schooling. Benjamin had not learned of the nature of his education until several days after the princess had been taken. And such information formed the rift that had formed between them. Both learned that the other had taken a wife, and now both were fulfilling their dreams as they had hoped for in their youth.

Their plan, Nicholas reflected, was simple, though he was aware that without himself, it would be nigh impossible, if not completely so, to carry out. He would cast a Disillusionment Charm when they drew near; if this could not be done, the sentries of the opposition would be killed by their archers. From there, they would proceed to scale the walls of the castle, and once inside the keep they would begin the search for the place the princess was imprisoned.

Suddenly, Sir Nicholas faltered, and his horse tossed his head. There was something amiss, something he had not accounted for. All too late, he realized that their arrival had not gone by unnoticed, for he could see the heavy wooden drawbridge being slowly lowered. They would, he knew, be met with a force to rival their own.

"DRAW BACK!" he bellowed to his charging knights. "Draw back, we are within range–"

He was abruptly cut short as an arrow sliced through the air, narrowly missing Benjamin, for instead of piercing the flesh of his companion, it struck the man just behind him. When he turned in horror at his miscalculation, the path of the arrow between them was still warm.

Yet his men persisted, leaving the body of the fallen behind. He could hear the terrified whinnies of the now-riderless mount as the others passed by; he could feel its desperation as it reared up.

Nicholas had seen battle before. He had fought it, and had brought victory to his kingdom. This siege was nothing to compare to the lengthy wars which had plagued the country. And yet, he took each one as though it was the most important of all. And for once, perhaps, this comma in the book of history was. Wars were fought over land, money, and power. Brave men had died for the sake of greed. Yet when last had something been so pure as the rescue of a damsel in distress? Encouraged, Sir Nicholas withdrew his sword from his sheath, then removed his wand from where it had been hidden in his saddle.

The enemy was nearly upon them, then. As he had anticipated only minutes before, their numbers were great; greater even, perhaps, than their own. They were not noble men; he could see this from their lack of traditional armor. They were to fight rogues and thieves: men with little limitations or vulnerability but for physical protection.

"Til the end, my brother," Sir Benjamin said beside him, his voice rising above the clamor of hoof beats.

"Til the end!" Sir Nicholas agreed.

Just as a flurry of arrows was released toward them, he cast a Shield Charm over them, and the arrows seemed to strike the air above, sickly reminiscent to rain drops.

"God is with us!" someone cried triumphantly, yet the man at the front heard him not.

And then suddenly, as it no one could have foreseen it, the armies collided. With the clash of metal meeting metal was forged a living seam between the two, the roar of such an encounter deafening. The Shield Charm had not withheld, though he had not expected it to. Casting one now would be foolish; they could not risk protecting more than their own knights.

The battle raged with the likeness of a full-fledged storm. The dying thundered, swords flashed in the sun. The smell of blood and urine mingled with the earth was upon the air. Side-by-side, Benjamin and Nicholas battled their way through the mass of force and steel, each minute bringing them closer to the opened mouth of the fortress.

"To your right!" Nicholas called, Stunning a man with a dagger grasped in his hand as he approached the flank of Benjamin's horse. The warning had hardly been uttered when the frozen attacker was run through.

Nicholas strengthened his grip upon the hilt of his sword, for perspiration had loosened it. Perspiration that had also begun to drip into his eyes, obscuring his vision. For a moment, he could not see, yet a moment was a moment too long.

His mount screamed in anguish as its leg was sliced, sending Nicholas to the ground as the animal reared, then fell. The impact came quickly and left him in a temporary daze. From seemingly far away, he saw the rogue that had crippled his horse come toward him, weapon raised. The point glistened as it approached. Recovering in an instant, he rolled to the side just as the sword was driven into the place where he had been. In one swift motion, the man was dead.

Gasping for air, Sir Nicholas pressed on toward the drawbridge, Benjamin at his heels–for he, too, had abandoned his mount. It was guarded by no one, and they were soon inside.

Within the walls, it was deathly quiet, as though all inhabitants were doubling as warriors for the day. Even all sounds of the battle just outside were lost in the emptiness; they were reduced to whispers of wind that spun small clusters of leaves about upon the cracked stone ground. The pair of knights paid no heed to this, however, for their eyes were cast above, wary of murder holes as they walked through the entrance.

The fortress appeared to be of such an age that it was ill-designed for defense, for already, they had reached the courtyard. At its center rested an enormous stone fountain which produced naught but the growing layers of dust upon its surface. Vines curled about its base and crept into the basin, a waterfall of dying green. The men made not a sound, for their footsteps were dulled by moss and weeds.

"Blimey," Benjamin breathed in wonder as he removed his helmet. "It appears to be abandoned."

Nicholas soon followed suit, relishing the feel of the cool October air upon his skin. "We should not assume anything just yet, although I cannot help but feel that you are right."

"Perhaps even the princess is no longer here," the former thought aloud.

The latter furrowed his brow and frowned. Then he sheathed his sword, replacing it into the scabbard at his hip, and lay his wand flat against his upturned palm. For seconds, it remained motionless, when suddenly it seemed to come to life as it rapidly spun against his hand. Benjamin eyed it curiously.

After several turns, it decidedly ceased to move, pointing ahead of them, yet slightly north.

"She's here," Nicholas murmured, nodding.

"And what was that?" his companion inquired in awe, his gaze still fixed upon the wand.

"Erised," he explained with a small chuckle. "A spell contrived from a mirror at Hogwarts–my school–which reflects what you most long for. In this form, however, it does not reflect, but points. My wife was a contributor to its creation."

Benjamin questioned him no further on the matter, and the men were once more silent and alert. They followed the direction in which the wand pointed as though it were a compass, and soon it had led them to a doorway driven into stone. Like to the fountain, vines curled about it, entwining and nigh obscuring it from those with less than a watchful eye. It appeared that recently, they had been shifted slightly aside, revealing a rusted knob and keyhole.

Benjamin hesitated.

"She is down there," the wizard murmured, and attempted to open the door. "Alohamora," he stated, removing his wand from its perch. With a dull click from within, the door swung inward.

"Lumos," he whispered, and brushed the vines aside.

The passage was narrow and dank. He could hear water dripping upon the ground somewhere nearby, and the only light was that which spewed from the tip of his wand. Ahead of them, it stretched in a slight but constant decline, and at one point, it seemed as though the floor vanished entirely, and only a void of blackness remained. The air was thick and warm, though there was little warmth to it the further they traversed.

After several careful minutes, the knights came upon what they had before believed to be a drop, but now discovered it was a steep flight of stairs leading deeper into the earth. Nicholas shone his wand upon it; at the bottom was another door. They were cautious of the crumbling stone as they climbed down, though it was without mishap that they reached their destination. And once there, Nicholas extinguished their light and bathed them in darkness.

The door was open, much to their quiet surprise. Beyond it, torches flickered in their brackets, casting a yellow glow upon the knights. It was a dungeon, though the many barred cells seemed to more be fit to cage wild animals. The stench which met them was nigh overpoweringly foul. Beside him, Benjamin choked.

"Do you see her?" he whispered. "That Erised spell, will it–"

"I need my wand for protection. I will search here. You should start over there."

He agreed, and with that, the knights separated.

Nicholas crept through the numerous rows he had designated himself to search, peering into each cell as he passed. All were empty, all but one, but it was one that he could not find.

Suddenly, a light and feminine voice shattered the silence. "Is someone there?" it called.

Nicholas rushed toward whence it had come. "Hello?" it called again, then dissolved into a fit of coughs.

"Princess?" he inquired as he reached the cell.

Her fair cheeks were besmirched by dirty patches of brown and grey, and in her hair were bits of molding straw. Her once elegant gown was in tatters, and already, her eyes seemed sunken into her skull. She crawled forward and clasped his hands through the bars which separated them.

"I thank you," she murmured, and coughed once more.

"Stand back," he commanded gently, and she obeyed, retreating to a filthy corner.

With magic, the door was easily unlocked. Sir Nicholas held out his hand. "Hurry, Princess," he coaxed, yet she did not move.

And then she screamed, her face contorting with horror. He turned in surprise, only to find a monster of a man behind him, the glint of an axe arched above him. Nicholas stumbled awkwardly into the cell as the weapon sliced through the air toward him. He could no longer hear the cries of the princess, only the sound of adrenaline coursing through his body.

The man swung again, and he parried with a Shield Charm. He shot a Stunning Spell but missed, and it was all the giant needed. Nicholas felt himself fall as the man's leg lashed out into his stomach, winding him and forcing a coppery taste into his mouth. His head hit metal, and he grasped blindly for his wand; yet it was to no avail. It had been knocked from his hands.

With a grin twisting his enormous features, the giant held him captive with his foot, and Nicholas could but watch as the axe sped toward his neck. A searing pain wracked through his body, and through fading vision, saw the princess faint. Her mouth was still open in a silent scream, and her dress was now spattered with blood.