Seeing Ghosts

Fights at Hogwarts followed a certain etiquette—or, to be precise, fights between Gryffindor and Slytherin did.

The other two houses rarely joined in group fights. Ravenclaws were too busy fighting among themselves to show much aggression toward outsiders, while Hufflepuff had numbers and unity on its side. Hardly anyone went looking for trouble with them.

The bad blood between Gryffindor and Slytherin went back so far no one could trace its origins, so their group fights had settled into a familiar pattern.

First, they stayed away from the Castle. There were too many variables inside it. If a professor happened to pass by, everyone would end up in Detention.

Second, they posted lookouts so they could run if anything seemed wrong.

Third, they avoided magic whenever possible. If they did use it, they stuck to jinxes with counter-curses. Magical injuries were worse than those caused by ordinary punches, and anyone who got carried away and used a serious curse would be in deep trouble.

And finally, anyone who could run did. If escape was impossible, one or several people stayed behind to take the blame. Once the points had been deducted and the Detention served, that was that.

This was not a quirk of one year's students. It was an unwritten set of rules forged through years of confrontation, something teenagers with immense destructive power had developed naturally as they kept clashing.

It was also why the Hospital Wing kept vast quantities of dittany, a large bottle of Skele-Gro, and other medicines for serious injuries on hand. Thanks to those students, Madam Pomfrey could hold her own even when she visited St. Mungo's Hospital for professional exchanges.

The reason these rules mattered now was that Harry Potter, a first-year student, had somehow followed them and broken them at the same time.

In short, he had been cornered too.

Usually, the new students from the two houses waited until after their Quidditch Match to start fighting each other. This year, they had got an early start.

The Slytherins caught Harry on his way back to the Castle after Herbology class, once his classmates had split up. They beat him and fled before the Gryffindors could come to his aid.

Harry and Ron fought hard, with Neville joining in of his own accord, but they were outnumbered and ended up in the Hospital Wing.

Andrew heard all of this from his roommate Hal over lunch. According to Hal, there would probably be another clash that night.

"First-year business is mostly settled by first years. Things only get a little messier when Quidditch rivalries are involved."

Hal eagerly explained the supposed unwritten rules of those fights to his four roommates. His account was jumbled and all over the place.

After listening for ages, Andrew managed to pin down a few points: "They keep fighting until everyone capable of rallying a group has been sent to Detention. By then, the students have a pretty good idea who the future Prefects will be."

"Madam Pomfrey won't tell the professors unless someone has a magical injury."

"No one fights on weekends. They're treated as a ceasefire." Andrew had plenty he wanted to say about that, but after some thought, he had to admit it was wisdom earned over many years of fighting.

"Anyway, wait until their Potions class this afternoon. Ha! The whole year might get dragged in, and it's the last class before the weekend!"

All in all, it promised to be quite a spectacle.

Unfortunately, Andrew and his roommates had a class of their own: Magical History.

There was nothing they could do about it. The classrooms were nowhere near each other.

"Looks like we won't get to watch. Better think about how to take good notes this afternoon instead..."

That was Andrew's conclusion. Everyone checked the timing and raised no objections. With no other factors involved, Ravenclaws were not going to argue against the facts.

"Haaah... yawn..."

Having finally survived Magical History, Andrew covered his mouth as he let out a huge yawn. Then he asked whether any of his roommates wanted to come to the Library and work through some books with him.

None of them did. Magical History must have been especially effective at wearing them down; they all wanted to go back and rest.

Unable to find a companion, Andrew headed to the Library alone to finish his two extra assignments and work on a draft while he was at it.

"Haaah..."

With no one to talk to on the way, Andrew could not shake the drowsiness he had built up in Magical History. When he yawned a second time, he decided to stop at the bathroom and splash his face with cold water.

There was a spell called the Water-Making Spell, if I remember right. Too bad I'm nowhere near ready to use it...

As the water helped drive away most of his sleepiness, he carefully took a sheet of paper from his bag, tapped it with his Wand, and turned it into a towel.

Transfiguration, though... Once I understood the theory and put it into practice, my progress was frighteningly fast...

He wiped his face with the towel and glanced in the Mirror.

His pupils widened. His breath stopped. In the Mirror, a transparent ghost stood right behind him, staring fixedly at him.

Every hair on Andrew's body stood on end. His drowsiness vanished at once. He pressed his left hand against the nail in his trouser pocket and prepared to draw his Wand.

I've seen a ghost!

Wait... As he drew his Wand, Andrew finally registered what that meant. Oh. I've seen a ghost...

This was Hogwarts. Of course there were ghosts here.

He had seen ghosts when school started. The Ravenclaw ghost had barely paid his house any attention, but Andrew had seen the ghosts from the other houses clearly enough.

He just... was not used to them yet.

He had been sleepy and looking in the Mirror, only to spot a ghost standing behind him. Who could get used to that?!

"What are you doing?"

The ghost behind him eyed Andrew suspiciously as she asked the question. Her gaze was almost aggressive.

"Washing my face." Now that Andrew understood what was happening, his heart was still pounding, but he was no longer afraid. Older students had told him that the only ghost in the school who was both harmful and flammable trash was Peeves, who looked male.

"You weren't planning to drop a book on Moaning Myrtle's head or stomach?"

The female ghost, presumably Moaning Myrtle, stared suspiciously at Andrew's bag. It bulged enough to look as though it held the tools for the job.

"I'm a Ravenclaw. I wouldn't do something so pointless and boring when there's nothing to gain from it."

The two things had nothing to do with each other, and Andrew had seen plenty of Ravenclaws do things just to pass the time. Still, he delivered the dubious logic with complete confidence. It was the fastest way to settle the matter.

He would have to have a screw loose to try reasoning with a female ghost who seemed paranoid. What normal ghost went into the boys' bathroom and then came out to scare people? That argument was never going to go smoothly.

"Huh?"

"Boring?"

"Nothing to gain?"

The female ghost's mouth opened wider and wider. Then, to Andrew's bewilderment, she burst into tears. "Useless, boring Myrtle..."

"Myrtle, looked down on by a little first-year..."

"Myrtle, who nobody cares about..."

Tears streamed from her transparent eyes. Somehow, the taps turned on all at once. Then Moaning Myrtle plunged into the pipes and fled, still crying.