Dissonant electric guitars wailed with distortion, creating a delightful chaos in the listener's mind: "Is this good? Is this bad? Is this even music? Why do I love it so much, anyway?" Then the lead singer's scream pierced through, a cry for freedom, carrying with it the answer: "That's why." The bassline thumped against your chest, and if your feet weren't moving yet, your heart certainly was. Meanwhile, the drummer unleashed a furious rhythm, pouring out the raw energy you wished you could release yourself. Punk was brutal, visceral, rebellious, and dirty. It had little to do with England—and maybe that's precisely why it thrived there.
Thess liked music where people sang by shouting, though she herself wasn't much of a shouter. She'd expressed herself with her fists a few times, but rarely with her voice. Still, the music and the urge to scream stayed tucked away in that private space between her headphones.
"What are you listening to?" a feminine voice asked from the shadows.
"Go away, Anaya," Thess said. "I want to be alone."
A pale, cold light emanated from the ghost, faint but enough to illuminate the interior of the Windermere family mausoleum. She was—or had been—a tall, blonde, and strikingly beautiful young woman, dressed in a long, flowing nightgown that fluttered as if caught in a breeze that wasn't there.
Thess wasn't startled. Seven years at Hogwarts made you accustomed to ghosts. She was, however, annoyed by the intrusion.
"Sorry," Thess said reluctantly, sitting up from the tomb she'd been lying on. "Anaya told me there weren't any ghosts here."
"I don't usually show myself," the ghost replied.
"I was just leaving," Thess said, gathering her belongings: a water bottle, a bag of crisps, and her phone.
"No, it's fine. I was just curious about the music. Could you play it for me?"
Thess hesitated, embarrassed. She considered scrambling to find a Taylor Swift playlist, but there was no signal in the mausoleum. Taking a deep breath, she pressed play.
The ghost's expression shifted from astonishment to a smile.
"Didn't expect that, did you?" Thess said.
"No, but it's good," the ghost replied sincerely. "What's it called?"
"Venereal Lycanthropy," Thess said, feeling awkward saying the name aloud.
"Do you know the Weird Sisters?" the ghost asked excitedly. "They played at my ball."
"Not really my era," Thess replied. "Sorry."
"You should look them up—they were excellent."
"I think I'll go now," Thess said, standing.
"Don't worry," the ghost said. "You can stay."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course. Mind if I listen too?"
"Not at all."
Thess sat back down on the tomb, right above where the face of Edmund Windermere, the first Duke of Heavenbrook, should be. She placed her phone on the plaque bearing his name and turned the volume all the way up.
The ghost settled at the foot of the tomb, facing Thess, and began swaying her head to the beat, her ethereal hair dancing in the air. Thess couldn't resist joining in, raising her hand to form devil horns with her fingers. Before long, they were both shouting along to the chorus.
"Thess, are you in there?" Ginny's voice called from outside.
Thess lunged desperately for the pause button. The noise must have given her hiding spot away. The ghost disappeared just in time as Ginny opened the door.
"Thank Merlin, I found you," Ginny said, relieved, wiping sweat from her forehead.
Thess tried to slip past her, but Ginny cornered her in the mausoleum. She grabbed the edges of Thess's coat and pulled her into a bear hug, pressing the girl's head against her chest. Thess fell to her knees and began to cry.
Ginny waited patiently as Thess stopped struggling and thrashing. She gently stroked the girl's hair until the sobbing subsided.
"It's okay now," Ginny said softly once Thess quieted.
"I swear I didn't know," Thess said when she found her voice.
"You didn't know because it's a lie."
Thess lifted her head to meet Ginny's gaze.
"Voldemort killed my brother," Ginny said, her eyes steady and unwavering.
"Are you sure?" Thess asked, incredulous.
"I was there," Ginny replied firmly. "I saw it."
Thess calmed, allowing herself a few more moments of comfort in the embrace. She hadn't received many hugs between the ages of five and seventeen, but lately, she'd had plenty and decided she liked them.
"I'm okay now," she said, wiping her face with her sleeve.
"I'm gathering the team to discuss what was in the paper," Ginny said, wiping her own face. "Do you want to join us?"
"I do."
Ginny stood and offered her hand to help Thess up.
"Coach," Thess said, lowering her head, "can I have five more minutes?"
"Of course," Ginny said, hesitating. "We'll wait for you."
Once the door closed and Ginny was gone, the ghost reappeared.
"You okay?" she asked Thess.
"Yeah," Thess replied.
The ghost let out a sigh of relief—or mimicked one, an old habit that wasn't easy to shake.
"Sorry for barging in," Thess said. "I'll tell Anaya not to come here anymore."
"No need. You're both welcome, and so is Orion."
"Orion comes here?" Thess asked, surprised.
"Oops," the ghost said, looking sheepish.
Thess recalled her last conversation with Orion and decided against asking further.
"Just don't tell anyone about me, okay?" the ghost said. "You're the only one who knows I'm here."
"Okay," Thess agreed and stood. "I should go."
"One more thing," the ghost added. "Could you bring more music next time? I'm about twenty years behind."
"You didn't miss much," Thess chuckled, remembering her Spellfy history, filled with classics by old, dead artists.
As moonlight spilled through the open door, the ghost vanished. Yet Thess could still see her— if there was light, she could always see invisible ghosts, just as clearly as she saw the Golden Snitch. If only she were as good at spotting lies. Then she'd know if Ginny was simply trying to protect her when she said Voldemort, not Thess's father, had killed Fred Weasley.
"Wait, I don't know your name," Thess said, holding the door.
"Call me Alice."
"I'm—"
"Thessaly, I know. I saw your night game. By the way, happy birthday."
"Thanks. It was nice meeting you, Alice."
Thess glanced at Alice one last time, searching her translucent gown for signs of a violent death, often present on young ghosts. There were none—a sign that usually meant only one thing.
"I'm sorry," Thess said.
"For what?" Alice asked.
"For nothing."
"See you around," Alice said as the mausoleum door closed, leaving her alone once more in dark.