I don't own Harry Potter. I think I will update on Fridays from now on. Not necessarily every Friday, but expect updates to come on Friday. I am taking some liberties with canon. I hope it doesn't bother you readers too much. Thanks to the guest and 2sidedstoryteller29995 for reviewing.
Hello. Do you want to see my neck trick? No?! Really? For once, a Gryffindor who doesn't want to see my head trick!
Who am I? I am Nicholas Mimsy-Porpington, the Gryffindor House Ghost! Really, there isn't much to tell, but if you wish to sit and listen, I'll tell you.
I was an only son of five children, if you'd believe it. There was one other boy child, but he died in infancy. The son of Hamish Porpington and Marcella Mimsy. You wouldn't know them. I came from a Muggle family, if you must know. My father was in the King's royal court. We were nobles.
We were gypsies, in a sense; moving with the King and his large band of followers. There was a good number of children, from servant families, fellow noble families, young pages, and so on.
Even though we were nobles, we weren't elitist. I still played with servant children. One girl I remember particularly. Gwenhwyfar, her name was. I was sweet on her, but I don't think she ever knew.
I shared toys and school books with them. I gave them outgrown clothing and shoes. In return, they gave me practical knowledge. Street smarts, you young folks call it now.
I missed them when I went off to Hogwarts. My parents told everyone I had gone to apprentice with a homeopathic relative in the country, since Hogwarts focused on Herbology and Potions; and those were the subjects that translated the easiest into the Muggle culture.
It was nice, the castle. It felt like home, having lived in or near castles all my life. Some boys in my year were homesick in the beginning, though none would admit it. But there was much hatred, especially towards muggleborns. Even from half-bloods.
It surprised me, the general quietness of school, aside from blood purity scuffles, since the royal court was such a whirlwind of activity.
After my seventh year, I went back to the Muggle world. I was knighted, and became a courtier, like my father and grandfather and great-grandfather and so on before me.
I was betrothed, and soon I had four children. Evelyn, Augustina, Clarabel, and Edwin.
My wife's friend Lady Grieve was upset, for she had crooked teeth, and was always lamenting how ugly it made her face look. I and the Lady were not close friends, since it would've been improper.
I was going to use a shrinking spell on her teeth. Not Reducio, something more specialized.
It backfired. She grew tusks. Admittedly, Transfiguration was not my strongest subject.
I was sentenced to death for using magic. They locked me in a cramped, filthy dungeon. They burned my wand, knowing it was special to me.
A priest led me to the execution block as the sun rose. The axe was blunt. They had misplaced the grindstone, and couldn't sharpen it. It took forty-five hacks to kill me, and they kept hacking until my head fell into the basket.
I suppose I stayed because I was afraid of dying. I wanted to fix Lady Grieve's tusks. She had them until she died, unfortunately. That was her punishment for killing a wizard; that no magical person would undo my error. I saw my children grow, and met all four of them again at Hogwarts.
I never saw my wife again. I cannot leave Hogwarts, and she must have moved on to the afterlife; it was centuries ago. But not a day goes by that I don't think of her.
Are you sure you don't want to see my head trick?