He scowled and marched through the confused throng of milling students, grabbed his chair and tried to move it. He might as well have tried to move the castle.
He drew his wand and cast a finite. That also didn't work. He looked towards the new dominate throne, eyed the many carved wooden snakes curling their way around it, and observed the way their eyes seemed to follow him, even without moving.
He cast his gaze around the many watching students, all curious as to what he was going to do next.
Draco Malfoy scowled and descended into his chair with as much dignity as he could muster.
A few minutes later, Greengrass, now much closer than she had been before, sat down in her sofa court and turned to him, a slight smile playing around her lips. "Cosy like this isn't it?"
He feigned disinterest. "I'm surprised your lord didn't just put your chair there." He motioned to "Apparently, handle it."
the new he doesn't
snake throne. feel you could
Greengrass's mildly amused expression didn't change. "I am an instrument of my lord's will. I will handle all and only what he wills me to handle."
Malfoy turned away and felt a shiver go down his spine. That had felt far too much like certain statements made about a certain individual he'd seen in his father's private pensieve lessons.
The table stretched away before Harry, filled with food and drink. He wan't hungry though. He was, in fact, doing his level best not to hurl. An almost unbearable stench filled his nostrils and his eyes watered in protest. To call the food ripe would be like describing Dumbledore as a bit tricky, and he was quite sure that if Daphne were here, she'd have insisted on burning every article of clothing afterwards, before vanishing the ashes, and bathing for a whole day, preferably in phoenix tears.
"So, Lord Slytherin. Tell us more about the young ghost in question." Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington floated halfway down the table. To his sides and around the table floated ten other ghosts, including the baron, the grey lady, and the fat friar.
Harry fought down his gag reflex and stood straighter. "Angelystor is a muggleborn witch murdered in the 1500's by a local muggle noble whom she was romantically engaged with. She has been bound to a tree in the graveyard she died in for the last five hundred years. She was newly pregnant when she died." The grey lady bobbed down to the table and floated through a putrid chicken.
"You say she is bound," Sir Nick commented. "How do you propose to move her here? Will you replant the tree?"
"I would prefer not to do that. It is a very old tree, but if necessary it could be done."
"So how do you plan to do otherwise?"
"I know of a ritual that can transfer the bond to a sympathetic object, which I would then bring here."
That caused a murmuring up and down the table.
The fat friar brought a thoughtful hand to his chin. "I don't recall the name Angelystor. What house was she in?" "She wasn't a Hogwarts student, I believe she went to the Shoe."
Sir Nick scoffed. "Then why bring her here? Why not send her to the Shoe if she's lonely."
"I am her friend. The first one she's had for two hundred years. And despite her not being a student here, she knew of it through song and story and has longed to float the corridors for many centuries. Does one need a good reason to extend the hand of friendship and compassion to one tragically cut down in the prime of their youth?"
He looked towards the grey lady who glared at the bloody baron with cold, dead eyes.
"Well spoken in my opinion," chortled the fat friar. "I say we give the young ghost a chance."
Sir Nick didn't look impressed. "Regardless of the merits of the proposal itself, to which I still remain unconvinced, I can only admit I find it difficult to support a petition brought in by a man who hides behind a mask." He sounded bored. "It goes against everything my house stands for."
Harry frowned, although ghosts couldn't see that.
obviously
the
The grey lady said nothing and just continued to glare at the baron.
The other themselves.
ghosts
muttered
among
The fat friar rose a little. "A call to vote then! All those in favour." Five ghostly hands rose.
"All those against?"
Six hands rose, Sir Nicholas's and the grey lady's among them. Harry made a quick list of names and faces and shoved it into his mind scape's library.
"Then the request is denied. Sorry about that, Lord Slytherin. Please try again next century."
Harry stalked out of the ghost's council chamber and immediately spotted Daphne, waiting patiently by the next large oak door.
"No luck then?"
Harry walked over to her side. "No, not this time. What the hell are you supposed to bribe ghosts with?" Daphne shrugged. "Then what do we do, now?"
Harry smirked. "Go ahead anyway and make it up as we go along."
Daphne groaned.
The final week of term arrived and snow piled up around the castle, deep enough for enthusiastic students to make their own miniature snow castles, and wage snowball war for the snowy grounds with the surprisingly large canon of snowball magic.
Inside a familiar empty classroom, Hermione stood in front of her sitting semi-circle of students, wearing a thick winter cloak lined with niffler fur. Justin, Sophie, Kevin, and Dean also wore their cloaks, but theirs weren't charmed and runed like hers. None of them had yet learned warming charms and none of them looked very happy about it.
"S'damn cold." Kevin muttered.
On the wall beside her, Portrait Elizabeth shook her head and smiled.
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