ROR

Headless Nick, waiting outside the bathroom, breathed a sigh of relief when Anthony emerged alone.

"Let's go, Professor."

Before they got close, they heard a loud voice declaring, "He must be from Gryffindor."

...

A group of older students had crowded together, blocking the corridor. A younger student, clutching a rolled-up parchment, tried to squeeze past the taller figures. "Excuse me– coming through." He hunched his shoulders, wishing he could shrink even smaller to slip through the crowd.

Anthony tapped one of the students blocking the way, who was laughing at the notice with his friends. The student turned, momentarily stunned. He immediately stepped aside, nudging the classmate in front of him and gesturing towards Anthony, indicating the professor's presence.

Anthony easily reached the center of the crowd. He grabbed the younger student's elbow, pulled him through the throng, and glanced up to read the notice above his head as the student hurriedly thanked him.

...

Apparition Course Notice.

If you reach the age of seventeen before August 31, 1992, you can sign up for a twelve-week Apparition course taught by Ministry of Magic Apparition instructors.

Tuition fee: twelve Galleons.

Those interested in applying should register at their Head of House's office.

...

The last sentence was heavily scribbled over, attempting to obscure the original words beneath. Anthony could faintly discern words like "signature."

Below the notice, a line written in dark green ink read: "Also, please refrain from obliterating, altering, or damaging this notice to those underage."

"I heard someone changed the age requirement, so they took down the notice from the house bulletin boards." Anthony overheard a student say. Headless Nick floated above Anthony's head and said without much interest, "That's it, Professor. You've seen it. There was a notice, a crowd gathered around it, and then several students walked through Myrtle. I told her long ago that this would happen."

A particularly tall student slipped through Nick's calf and squeezed out of the crowd. The tall boy frowned and shivered. He looked up, trying to determine who had poured ice water on his head, and then saw Nick glaring at him.

"Oh, sorry." the tall boy muttered, grabbing his bag and hurrying off. Headless Nick sighed. "Did I say something, Professor? Alas, every ghost experiences this."

Anthony offered him a few words of comfort and steered him towards a quieter area. Nick soon perked up, regaling Anthony with ghost anecdotes.

"The Bloody Baron isn't in a good mood." Nick said mysteriously. "I mean, worse than usual. He used to spend time moaning, but now he just wanders around, brooding. No one knows what he's thinking."

Aside from the Start-of-Term Feast, Anthony hadn't seen much of the Bloody Baron. He glanced at Headless Nick in surprise, wondering how he could gauge the mood of the gaunt, somber ghost.

"I hope he feels better soon," Anthony said politely.

"Oh, no," Nick replied. "This is a good thing. It's about time he changed his demeanor. Slytherin used to win the House Cup every year, and the Bloody Baron's look, it was quite irritating. Not just me, but the other ghosts couldn't stand it either. We all find his melancholy quite refreshing."

"We? You and...?" Anthony couldn't picture the Fat Friar gossiping about others, and Headless Nick didn't seem like the type to discuss such matters with Myrtle.

Nick said, "My friends. You don't think ghosts are all like Myrtle, Professor, staying in their own cubicles and never socializing? I have, well," He paused, then waved his hand dismissively, as if pushing the math problem aside. "Many friends. Of course, most of them are dead. Some are even destined to die in the future, even if they aren't dead yet."

Anthony had to admit, he had a point.

"I hope Myrtle finds some friends too," he said.

The girl needed someone she could talk to. The toilet might be a loyal listener, but it probably wasn't the most suitable conversational partner. Probably.

"Ah, I can only hold out a sliver of hope for that. Speaking of which, Myrtle thinks very highly of you, Professor," Nick said with a hint of admiration. "Last time Peeves tried to release a mouse outside your office, Myrtle chased it all the way down to the first floor. But I recall you have a cat?"

Anthony nodded. "Yes, but I doubt it would appreciate Peeves' little gift."

The most likely scenario was his cat batting the mouse towards Professor Quirrell's door, adding a bit of excitement to the pale, jittery professor's day.

"Mrs. Norris loved it, at least," Nick said. "She practically flew to fetch Filch."

Anthony smiled. "That's good."

...

With the Fat Friar seemingly wanting a word with Nick, Anthony bid him farewell and continued his solo exploration of the castle. Without a guide or companion, he wandered aimlessly.

After passing the portrait of a noblewoman for the third time (she hid her face behind a large feather fan, only her eyes visible as she giggled with her companion at Anthony), he suddenly remembered the magical room the Weasley twins had mentioned, the one where they'd watched the meteor shower.

He stopped in front of a tapestry depicting a troll in a tutu, recalling the hints given by the kitchen elves and the twins. He closed his eyes, focusing on the blank wall.I need a safe place... he thought, please give me a safe place, away from others... A place where I can safely study flesh magic and necromancy.

He opened his eyes. A door, plain and unassuming, had silently materialized on the wall. Anthony grasped the handle, pushed the door open, and froze in astonishment. It was an empty, vast space, its smooth white walls reflecting only him, a figure in black robes, standing in the endless white, hand still on the doorknob.

Anthony cautiously stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the white room, seemingly neverending.

The moment he released the handle, the door vanished.

.....

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