There are over half a million Harry Potter stories on alone. By this point I think J. K. Rowling is afraid to enforce her copyright. We outnumber her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I woke up to a sense of presence and the scent of Jessi's hair. The scent faded as I woke, and I found myself in my stone room at Hogwarts. The feeling of someone else in the room stayed.

I kept my breathing steady and slow, and listened. I heard nothing, not even the small sounds a body makes. So it was either a ghost, or Peeves, or just a false alarm. I opened my eyes and had a look through the night's grit.

A ghostly young woman sat 'in' one of my chairs, her translucent pearly form hovering just a bit above the chair. Her curly hair was trying to fight its way out of its braids, and she wore a plain short-sleeved gown over a kirtle. She looked over at me and smiled. ''Guid morn, Master Geoffrey. Ur ye weel?''

''What - '' - Are you doing in here? - Happened to your habit? I cleared my throat and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. As my brain-fog lifted I realized that waking up was having its usual effect on a certain part of my body. I sat up in bed and piled up the blankets on my lap.

''Good morning Shibley.'' I blinked a couple of times, wondering exactly what to say next. ''You changed your, um, everything?''

''Mah seemin', aye. Sister Regina fancies herself th' heid ay th' Grey Kimers, as thocht it waur a proper order. She said Ah cooldnae serve as yer apprentice an' bide wi' th' Kimers.'' Shibley grinned as though at a happy memory. While she enjoyed herself I tried to figure out what a 'kimer' might be. Judging by the context I guessed it meant 'lady', as in the Grey Ladies. ''An' Ah said she waur a horrid auld nag, an' Ah'd nae be part ay onie order 'at woods lit th' likes ay 'er in. An' sae haur Ah be.''

Ghosts could change their 'seeming'? No, wait. I knew that. I'd seen what Nearly-Headless Nick looked like when there were no children around. Four dozen whacks with a dull axe had left Sir Nicholas of Maimsey-at-Portontown looking as though he'd stuck his head under a lawnmower. That meant...

No, I was too tired to figure out what that meant. Later for that. ''So, apprentice. Have you noticed any changes over the past few centuries? Say, in attitudes towards privacy?''

Shibley looked puzzled. ''Nae, Master. Aa'm nae sure whit ye pure techt.''

'Pure techt'. Mean, or get at. I yawned and shook my head. It was way too early to be trying to translate Shibley's accent. ''Okay, we'll go over that later. For now I just need you to step out of the room while I pull on some clothes.''

''Wa, Master? Ur ye nae wearin' keks awreddy?''

Yeah, Shibley and I needed to have a chat. First subject: Why it is inappropriate for teenaged girls to ask middle-aged men about their underwear.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

Galilea and I hadn't spent the night together since our disastrous first date. Instead I'd taken to escorting her from her quarters to breakfast most mornings. This gave us a bit of time alone to talk and, more importantly, snog like teenagers in the stairwells.

We separated after a few minutes, both a bit flushed. ''How do you make peppermint smell that good?''

She smirked. ''Let's just say I have Neville slip a few extra ingredients into my perfumes.''

''Mm. They work.'' I went back in for another taste.

Finally we pulled apart. ''Time to put in an appearance,'' said Galilea. ''It wouldn't do to be too late.''

She used a Charm to straighten her hair and robes while I smoothed out my own robes. Possibly the only good thing about academic robes is their ability to cover embarrassing evidence. Once we were presentable we made our way down the stairs to the Great Hall's side entrance, coming in near the staff table.

''You should keep the Head Teacher's chair at the table all the time,'' I said. ''It looks comfy.''

''It looks ridiculous,'' said Galilea. ''My feet don't even reach the floor. That beast is for formal occasions. A regular chair suits me quite nicely the rest of the time.''

I saw Lestrange, Neville, Svensen, and Burke, plus a few staff I'd only had a chance to speak to at staff meetings or meals. I didn't see Idris Isgar or Ewart Fairbairn, both of whom I needed to speak to. I'd probably need to arrange meetings. And I definitely needed to speak to Professor Theobrosan about ghosts and seemings.

Galilea sat in her centre place, and by a kind of unspoken agreement there was a spot at her left for me. This let us hold hands under the table, while I ate with my left and Galilea with her right hand. Today Rebecca Lestrange sat to my left, while Neville Longbottom sat to Galilea's right. I said good morning to Neville, then sat by Lestrange. ''Morning, Professor Lestrange. How's the Charmed life?''

She grunted. Rebecca Lestrange looked hung-over most mornings. You could never be sure if she'd spent the previous night drinking, or reading the kind of books required of the Chair of Studies in the Dark Arts. Or maybe both. Galilea had assured me that some books are best read in a fuzzy state of mind.

''You seen the Prophet yet?'' Lestrange asked me. The dark-eyed witch handed me a folded newspaper.

NEW TEACHER SETS STUDENTS AFLAME

''Ah crap.'' I closed my eyes for a few seconds. After opening them again I set the paper aside. ''That can wait for after breakfast. Oatmeal and toast, please. And a double espresso in a large mug, with the rest of the mug topped up with regular coffee.''

The oatmeal and toast appeared an instant later, but no coffee. I repeated my order. A second later a tiny wrinkly pink creature appeared on the table. The nervous House-Elf craned his neck around to stare at the crowd of students. House-Elves are very private creatures, and this one obviously was not happy with having to speak to me.

''Begging for the Professor's pardon, but Billy Blin is sending us up to ask the Professor - Is the Professor really meaning that, sir?''

I showed the House-Elf the headline. It blinked. ''Ah. Will the Professor be needing more than one, sir?''

I shook my head. Lestrange spoke up. ''I'll have one too.''

The House-Elf vanished. An instant later our coffees appeared. Giving my hand a squeeze under the table Galilea said ''I'll speak to Rita later today.''

''Thanks. We've got enough trouble without this kind of press.'' I pulled a few envelopes out from a robes pocket and put them on the table. ''That being said, I'm curious as to how Rita learned about my inglorious and unlamented military career. I doubt Bill Weasley leaked it, you don't get to be a human working in a senior position at Gringotts if you can't keep a secret. So these are for different departments at Gringotts. All legitimate business, but I've salted them with information that should be of interest to the press. Nothing embarrassing, unless you're a Black or a Wyvern.''

Rebecca Lestrange looked at me over the rim of her coffee cup. I shrugged. ''Cousins on my mother's side. Until a generation ago there were a couple of Squib families living in the Saint Marys, Ontario region. Refugees from the Pureblood families here. I'm the last one left though. Sometimes I wonder if my mother was right about a family curse.''

Galilea squeezed my hand again. I picked up one of the envelopes and showed it to her. ''This one is about that business a friend of ours said to me just before the meeting with Rita. I realized he had a bit of a point. Jessi and I had a joint insurance package that can't be modified without both of our approvals. There's a fair amount of money in it. I just haven't wanted to admit that I need it.'' I sighed and put the letter down. ''I know it sounds stupid, but being the first to admit I need the money just, well, it just seems like she wins, somehow.''

''Eat your breakfast, Geoffrey. You'll feel better once you have something other than caffeine in you. And I know you have plans. You'll feel much better once you have the resources to follow through with them.''

''Yeah.'' I turned my attention to the oatmeal and toast. I knew Galilea was right, both about the food and the money. I also knew that Jessi felt the same way I did about that policy.

Rebecca Lestrange downed the last of her coffee. ''I don't know what you think could embarrass the Blacks. There's hardly any of that lot left, and the ones left are all mental.''

''According to my great-grandmother, her cousin Phineas drank like he thought someone was going to take it away from him. And while Virginia may have been trimmed from the Black family tree, there's only one Phineas Nigellus Black in the Hogwarts Quill registry born at the right time to be her cousin. And the rumour that a former Headmaster of Hogwarts was a drunk, well that's enough of a minor scandal to catch the media's attention without seriously hurting anyone.''

Galilea chuckled, a nice low sound. ''That hypocritical old stick. I always knew there was something odd about that particular portrait.''

''That's nothing compared to some of the other stuff in her letters.'' I said. ''My great-grandmother was a huge gossip. Her old letters are full of nasty rumours about her family back in the old country. To say nothing of her neighbors in Saint Marys. Judging by her letters I doubt I would have liked old Ginny, but she's a hoot three generations removed.''

The doors and windows of the Great Hall swung open, letting in both a damp draft and the owls carrying the morning's mail. The first wave of owls swooped down on the tables throughout the hall, landing next to plates of food.

''That can't be hygenic,'' I said.

''I find it's best not to think about it,'' replied Galilea. ''Although it's hard to ignore when your post-owl is carrying a dead mouse along with your mail.''

Another flight of owls winged into the Hall. A pale barn owl from the staff Owlery landed on the table in front of me, bearing my copy of the Quibbler. I thanked it, never really being sure how much an enchanted owl understood. It fussed with my letters for a few seconds, finally got a grip on them with its claws, and flew away.

''What a bizarre way to run a post office.''

''We improvised the whole thing,'' said Galilea. ''And then one day the Ministry decided to make it all official. Now it's traditional, and therefore not to be changed.''

I gave her hand one last squeeze and turned my attention to the papers. I picked up the Quibbler and had a look at the first article under the fold.

GRIM DOOM FORETOLD FOR MUGGLE PROFESSOR?

The Muggle professor who has become infamous for his unsavoury activities at the Hog's Head pub first came into Hogsmeade in late August. Now the Daily Quibbler can report the first person he met in that town was Helen Trelawney niece of the famous oracle Sybill Trelawney who prophecied the defeat of Tom Riddle AKA 'Lord Voldemort'. In an exclusive interview with the Quibbler young Helen Trelawney speaks about her encounter with the notorious Muggle, her family's remarkable record of foretelling the future, and her reaction to meeting the subject of Headmistress Galilea Grimward's latest bizarre experiment.

I sighed and showed Galilea the headline. She rolled her eyes. ''We have our parent-teacher conference in a week,'' she said. ''I can see we're going to have to do quite a bit of damage control in the next few days, if we hope to discuss anything other than you with the parents.''

''Well,'' I said. ''They say there's no such thing as bad publicity.'' I turned the paper over for a look at the main headline.

HOGWARTS PROFESSOR THREATENS TO FEED FEMALE STUDENTS HIS WAND