Chapter 8

At six o'clock sharp, I stood in front of the Transfiguration classroom door, knowing I couldn't afford to miss this rapid assessment. I took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and knocked. For a moment, there was silence, then the door swung open, and Professor Flitwick appeared.

"Good evening, Professor," I said.

"Ah, Mr. Jody," he replied. "Good to see you. I hear Professor McGonagall has an advanced test planned for you?"

"Yes, Professor," I confirmed with a nod.

"Well then," he chuckled, "good luck!"

"Thank you," I nodded again and stepped inside.

Professor McGonagall was already seated at her desk, looking particularly pleased.

"Good evening," I greeted her.

"Ah, Timothy," she said warmly. "I'm glad you're here. Please, have a seat."

She gestured towards a comfortable armchair in front of her desk. I sat down, waiting expectantly, curious about what she would say next.

"Let's get straight to it," she said. "This quick quiz will test your theoretical understanding of Transfiguration. Afterward, we'll move on to a practical test. Are you ready?"

"Of course, Professor," I replied, settling more comfortably into the chair.

"Alright then," she began, "let's discuss the Three-Step Process of Turning the Inanimate into the Animate."

The professor had clearly decided to start with some serious challenges. This was a topic usually tackled in the middle of the seventh year. But I had already mastered it.

"The Three-Step Process of Turning the Inanimate into the Animate is a method that enables a wizard to transform one object, like a stone, into a living creature, such as a cat. The first step involves the stone itself. The second step is the intermediate phase, where the wizard determines how to generate the living organism. The final step is the formation of the cat."

I went on to explain the transformation process in detail. The professor nodded occasionally and asked clarifying questions, which I answered with ease, diving into the specifics she wanted to explore.

Her next question was from a topic covered at the end of the sixth year, and it was relatively easy to answer. I delivered the theoretical knowledge smoothly, much to her satisfaction. She did throw in some tricky follow-up questions, but even those didn't faze me. I showcased my skills, proving that my understanding of this magic was invaluable in this world.

The third and final topic went beyond the Hogwarts curriculum. Here, I had to put in more effort, engaging in a deeper discussion with the professor. But my extensive reading of magical books helped me navigate the topic with confidence, even incorporating knowledge from other disciplines.

"Well then, let's see how you handle the practical side," she said with a smirk.

The practical test was easier than the theoretical part, though the professor still didn't go easy on me. I had to demonstrate everything we'd discussed, using my wand to prove I wasn't just proficient in theory but also skilled in practice.

"Take a seat," she said after I completed the last Transfiguration. "Well, what can I say..."

Just then, the door opened, and Headmaster Dumbledore's voice filled the room.

"An excellent demonstration of your Transfiguration knowledge and skills."

Albus Dumbledore paused beside McGonagall and continued:

"I managed to catch part of the theoretical discussion and the entire practical session. You delivered an outstanding performance, Mr. Jody. You should be proud of yourself."

"Headmaster," Professor McGonagall greeted him. "I didn't expect you to witness this assessment."

"Think nothing of it," he waved his hand dismissively. "I wanted to discuss something with you before I leave on some business. Mr. Jody, you're free to go. And once again, congratulations. That was an excellent demonstration. I'm confident Hogwarts will find a use for your skills."

"Thank you, Headmaster," I replied. "Professor."

"Yes, you're free to go, Mr. Jody," McGonagall nodded. "We'll discuss the results of this assessment tomorrow. We'll meet at the same time in this office."

"Understood, Professor," I nodded, standing up from the chair. "Thank you for your time. Goodbye."

As I left the Transfiguration classroom, leaving the two incredibly powerful wizards behind, I finally exhaled. I needed to unwind after such a stressful test.

Back in the dormitory, I collapsed onto my bed, feeling the tension begin to ease. The intense grilling from McGonagall had been tough. If I had a friend here, I might have even talked about it. But, unfortunately, there are no other sixth-year Gryffindor guys around.

After calming down, I returned to my studies. Today's classes were fairly easy, as we were just easing back into the rhythm of learning. The following day was much the same: attending classes, interacting with other sixth-years from different houses, and practicing magic.

Isolda and Dorsani were busy networking with other girls to stay informed about various happenings. For example, Isolda was particularly interested in a girl from Hufflepuff who could effortlessly change her appearance. Overall, life at Hogwarts was gradually returning to normal, as it tends to in a school where students are separated from their parents and most outside influences.

Social life at Hogwarts was generally divided by year and age. Seventh-years, for instance, rarely interacted with students from first to fifth year, except maybe during Quidditch matches or in the Great Hall—and even then, not often. Sixth-years, too, were somewhat isolated from the younger students.

When six o'clock rolled around again, I returned to my meeting with Professor McGonagall. This time, the door opened almost immediately after I knocked. The professor was already seated at her desk, and as soon as I entered, she gestured to the chair for me to sit.

"Good evening, Professor," I greeted her.

"Good evening, Mr. Jody," she replied. "How are you today?"

"Everything's fine," I said. "I'm slowly getting into the swing of things."

"That's good," she nodded. "Tell me, what are your plans after graduating from Hogwarts?"

"Honestly, Professor, I haven't given it much thought yet," I said slowly, then added, "But I'd like to continue working with magic."

"An excellent answer," she nodded. "One should never stop developing oneself. Magic isn't just a job; it's an art, and sometimes one lifetime isn't enough to master it. Yesterday, you demonstrated excellent knowledge in Transfiguration. I think you could pass your NEWTs with an Outstanding grade right now. With a little effort, you could earn the rank of Transfiguration Apprentice."

"Thank you," I nodded. "I've actually continued studying magic throughout the summer."

"I'm incredibly pleased to hear that," the professor sighed. She adjusted her glasses and leaned forward a bit. "I have a proposition for you. Are you ready to hear it?"

"Of course, Professor," I nodded.

Interesting. What could Professor McGonagall be planning to propose?

"Headmaster Dumbledore was impressed by your practical skills in Transfiguration," began the head of Gryffindor House. "That's why he fully supports my proposal to invite you to become my teaching assistant. What do you say? Would you like to assist me?"

"Professor," I said slowly, "It would be an honor to assist you."

"Excellent," the woman said with satisfaction. It was clear she hadn't doubted I would accept. "As an assistant, you'll receive a salary of one Galleon every two weeks. Additionally, you'll gain access to the Restricted Section of our library and be entitled to private lessons with me. You'll be responsible for grading the homework of students from first to third year, and you'll be expected to come to this office twice a week to help students with difficult Transfiguration topics. Can you manage that, Mr. Jody?"

The salary was more than decent! Two Galleons a month, that's quite good. Access to the Restricted Section isn't much of a perk for me—I already had that through my ability. Private lessons with the professor? That's a nice addition to the material I've already studied. Helping others? I don't see any problems with that.

"Of course, Professor," I replied. "It'll be a good opportunity to test my skills in explaining the material to others."

"I'm glad you think so," the woman nodded. "And one more thing I forgot to mention—you won't have a curfew as my assistant. I hope you won't use that privilege for any foolishness."

"Don't worry, Professor," I nodded.

Afterward, she pulled out a contract. I quickly scanned through all the clauses and didn't see anything that raised any questions. I took out my wand and signed my name in the appropriate spot. Now, the document was official.

I started the job almost immediately.

Working as an assistant turned out to be incredibly simple and easy. If I felt a bit out of place at first, with experience, everything became much simpler. And, of course, I was getting paid for my work. First- through third-years were quite inquisitive and restless, but somehow, I managed to keep them focused, especially when they came for additional lessons.

Of course, this didn't mean I stopped going to the library to load books into my archive. Not at all. I continued to gather knowledge and slowly analyzed it. These were books on advanced charms, rare spells, and advanced Transfiguration. There were even treatises that devoted more than a hundred pages to a single process. Additionally, I began studying Occlumency. Protecting one's mind from intrusion by other wizards is incredibly important. For me, this art came surprisingly easily. My experience with meditation and using the Archive's magic certainly helped. I was making giant strides.

"Hey, Timothy," Isolda called to me. She sat down next to me. On the other side, Dorsani took a seat. "Have you heard that Apparition lessons will be starting soon?"

"Oh?" I said in surprise. "No, I hadn't heard."

"And you couldn't have," she chuckled. "The announcement just went up that anyone turning seventeen by the end of this year can take lessons in Apparition and prepare for a license in the art."

"I definitely need to sign up," I nodded. "Do you know where I can do that?"

"With the head of house," the girl replied, shaking her golden hair.

Apparition is a part of Space Magic, which I started studying right after Brock and I returned from the Red Fields. I think that after some practice, I could already manage to teleport from one place to another.

"Thanks," I nodded to Isolda. She smiled.

At that moment, I felt a prickly gaze on my back. Without showing it, I casually pulled out a small mirror, pretending to check my face. Immediately, I spotted a scowling sixth-year Slytherin staring at me. Strange… why is he looking at me like that? I don't like it.

Am I ready for a confrontation? That's the real question. Mentally and emotionally, yes, I'm prepared. But am I ready magically? Probably. I have almost no experience in magical duels—what I've practiced has been useful, but I lack real experience in wand combat. Am I afraid of this Slytherin? Not at all, which means I could handle a confrontation. But first, I need to be sure there's actually one coming. I wouldn't want to misread my instincts if this is just a minor coincidence.

"Isolda," I asked, "who's that Slytherin with chestnut hair and a small brooch?"

She discreetly turned to glance at the green table.

"Oh, that's Matthew Travers," she replied. "A pureblood from a family listed in the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight.' He's been trying to get me to go out with him. His uncle is in Azkaban for fighting on You-Know-Who's side."

"I hope he doesn't plan on staring at me like that for much longer," I told her. "Or he might have an unfortunate accident. Hogwarts is a big, magical school."

The last thing I need is to get into skirmishes with other students. My main goal is to absorb as much knowledge as possible, and conflicts could jeopardize that.

"Are you that confident in yourself?" she asked, now focused and attentive. It seemed not everyone made such threats lightly.

"Yes," I nodded. "So, the next time you talk to him, pass on what I said."

Leaving her to think it over, I headed to my next class.

After dinner, during which Matthew Travers continued to stare daggers at me, I handed Professor McGonagall my registration for Apparition lessons and returned to my room to make some preparations. The local magic has a dark side, full of Curses and Hexes, so it's essential to protect oneself. For passive protection, I enchanted all my clothing with every protective spell I knew from my Archives. Shoes, underwear, robes, trousers, shirts, gloves, scarves, socks, hats, even soft earmuffs—everything was subjected to protective magic.

Once everything was in place, I felt a bit calmer. The sense of vulnerability faded, leaving me confident for the next day. Of course, there's always the risk of potions finding their way to my table, but there are specific spells for detecting those as well. Fortunately, as I learned from the History of Magic, the secret to those spells has been lost to time.

The next day began without incident. Breakfast was pleasant, and I enjoyed good company with a few fifth-years. Many knew I was assisting Professor McGonagall, so they didn't hesitate to ask me about various topics. I answered their questions with ease, which they appreciated. Even some Ravenclaw sixth-years approached me.

Isolda didn't show up for breakfast today. Dorsani took a few plates for her and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Classes went smoothly, but I was concerned by the stares—not just from one Slytherin, but from several. And it wasn't just sixth-years; there were seventh- and even fifth-years watching me. What's going on? Is an entire house planning to target me?

There was also noticeable tension among the Gryffindor students. First-years never went anywhere alone; they were always accompanied by a couple of seventh-years. The other years stuck to their own groups and didn't venture out alone either. During dinner, I noticed a small gray zone around me—a bubble of isolation. Suspicion was growing. The question was whether this isolation was intentional or just a precaution.

I glanced at the staff table. Headmaster Dumbledore was absent, but Professor Snape was there, watching the students with little interest. When our eyes met, I felt a light, feathery touch in my mind. The Slytherin head of house showed no emotion. Professor McGonagall was also absent.

Many students know I have a routine: I always go to the library in the evening, rarely missing a day. I suspect there might be an attempt to intimidate me either on the way there or back. If it were me, I'd choose the return trip when the target would be tired, less alert, and the halls would be mostly empty. Enough time could pass before anyone found the injured, which is how I often replenished my Archives in my home world.

But it seemed the students hadn't planned it well, or perhaps hadn't thought it through. Not much time had passed since my warning, and Matthew Travers likely hadn't had enough time to devise something or consult with older students.

I encountered a group of Slytherins two turns away from the library. They were leaning against the ancient walls, with a few standing guard, likely to warn of approaching professors or block any escape routes.

Matthew Travers was crouched down, looking rather uncouth. As soon as I appeared, he sprang up.

"And here comes my friend," the Slytherin said. His companions—sixth, seventh, and even a few fifth-years—stood up, trying to encircle me. But as I stepped to the side, my back was almost against the wall, reducing their possible attack fronts. "Why are you throwing around threats so carelessly, huh, my friend?"

I remained silent, letting him lead the conversation. I felt no fear, no sense of danger—though I probably should have. Maybe it was because I'd already faced death once? I listened to my inner thoughts and asked myself: am I afraid of death? The answer was no. If anything, I would feel anger at not being strong enough to avoid perishing in such a place.

"So, mudblood," he sneered, "I don't know how you managed to stay at Hogwarts or who you sold yourself to, but you should ask your benefactors whom to bark at. Understand? Isolda Marigold belongs to me. To make sure you understand your mistake, I suggest you get on your knees and beg for forgiveness."

"Aren't you asking for too much?" I replied. My wand appeared in my hand with a flick, the tip pressing against the chin of the Slytherin who had foolishly approached. "Look, I could blow your head off right now. Poof! A bloody mess. I might be sent to Azkaban, but you'd be dead—a cold corpse without a head."

The wand's tip heated up, and panic flashed in the boy's eyes. The other students had already drawn their wands, pointing them at me. So, what should I do now? Push Travers away and then cast an enhanced Protego, which I've practiced extensively. It should absorb the initial spells. They likely won't be lethal, as I doubt they know any serious combat spells. Still, I shouldn't underestimate them; they're local aristocrats, after all, and probably have some tricks up their sleeves for dangerous situations.

The tension was palpable, almost suffocating. The pressure finally got to one of the fifth-years.

"Expelliarmus!"

That was the signal to act. A powerful, wordless spell sent Matthew Travers crashing into the opposite wall. I had practiced non-verbal spells extensively, as the "Theory of Magic" book described them as incredibly effective weapons. Now I could see for myself—absolutely true! I quickly followed up with an enhanced Protego, just as planned. The seventh-years, more skilled than the fifth-year, used non-verbal spells too. They were quick and sharp, but not quick enough for me. I had spent the entire summer training to cast spells at top speed.

The silvery-blue Protego shielded me from their attacks, flaring up with each impact and emitting a soft hum. But it held strong, unbroken. Meanwhile, Travers was struggling to get up, though he wasn't fully recovered. His wand was ready, with some spell on its tip, but there wasn't time to identify it—likely something aristocratic. What next?

Dispel Protego and hit them with a semi-circle of water. If they don't have any protective artifacts, finish them off. If they do, switch to curses and focus on the fastest seventh-year. The Slytherins are bound to react somehow, so I need to stay vigilant.

I dispelled Protego and immediately followed up with another spell. A wave of water surged forward, spreading out in a semi-circle. The fastest seventh-year quickly conjured a shield. Matthew Travers, once again, was too slow and was slammed into the wall again. This time, though, he hit his head hard, and it seemed to knock him out.

I used Transfiguration to encase the fallen Slytherins in a sarcophagus. Water is an excellent medium for Transfiguration. Now they wouldn't be able to escape without the help of a powerful wizard. This reduced the number of opponents significantly, but the remaining fight would be tougher.

Several weak curses struck the quick seventh-year. Rings on his fingers flared up, deflecting the spells. I had to dodge to avoid some buzzing spell that narrowly missed my head. That was close.

The water on the floor was quickly Transfigured into a large ice wall. The next spell hit the wall with a powerful impact, sending shards flying everywhere. The crash echoed through the corridors. This was the quick seventh-year retaliating. It could have been painful.

What's next? I need to assess the situation. As it stands, I've at least broken even in terms of reputation among the students, if not better. Though reputation doesn't matter much to me, surrendering isn't an option. So, I'll press on.

There are three and a half opponents left. The quick seventh-year, his companion from the same year, and two sixth-years. One of the sixth-years was caught in the aftermath of the ice wall's destruction and was struggling to get up, blood dripping down his arm.

Alright, target the weak link, the injured sixth-year. That should take him out unless someone protects him. If they do, I'll switch to pressing them with transfiguration. Recently, I've found it much easier to cast these spells. Why not consider hand-to-hand combat? It's an option.

A magical battering ram struck the sixth-year. No one shielded him, and I could almost hear his bones breaking in several places. I quickly conjured another Protego just in time. The quick seventh-year launched a lightning bolt. And to think I had doubted they would use combat spells. Although I was the first to start. The shield shattered, but it served its purpose. It bought me time for my next move. A mix of water and ice hardened like stone. Without a second thought, I hurled it down the corridor. No one could escape unscathed. Matthew Travers took the brunt of it, though the students who were immobilized by Transfiguration were protected from the shards.

The last sixth-year was out of the fight. A particularly large Transfigured stone had shattered his kneecap, nearly severing his leg. Another shard had pierced his arm clean through. Now, only the two seventh-years were left, and they had somehow managed to combine their defenses. Though I suspected how they did it. I wouldn't give them a chance to attack.

Another magical battering ram shot forward. The Slytherins didn't drop their shield, holding strong. But I wasn't going to stop. Another ram, followed by a third, and then a fourth. Then I switched to a different spell. A blue flash of lightning struck their shield, which began to weaken, slowly disintegrating. Another bolt of lightning further destabilized the shield. I quickly changed tactics, sending a black blob at them, a spell I had learned from a book for young lords. The shield started to crumble, leaving the Slytherins vulnerable. Checkmate.

They wouldn't be able to defend or attack in time. A powerful Expelliarmus flew toward both of them.

But then, from the shadows of the corridor, a spell shot out, dispelling my Expelliarmus. Emerging from the darkness was Professor Dumbledore, his beard flowing. Behind him were Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, and Madam Pomfrey with her medical staff.

I raised my wand, signaling that I wouldn't resist. Professor Snape approached and tried to snatch it from me, but I didn't let him. With a quick, unexpected move, my wand was at his throat.

"Stop, Mr. Jody," Dumbledore's voice boomed. "There's no need for rash actions."

The headmaster immediately began to deescalate the situation.

"No one will take your wand," he said calmly.

"Understood, Headmaster," I replied, lowering my wand.

Hogwarts' chief medic immediately got to work, her assistants efficiently providing first aid. The Slytherins wouldn't succumb to their injuries on the way to the hospital wing. After loading them onto stretchers, they hurried off. I also received a quick check-up, but luckily, I had no injuries.

Filch arrived, glaring at me with immense disdain. Well, yes, he'd have to clean this mess up.

"My office, right now," Dumbledore said, after releasing the students who had been encased in the Transfigured sarcophagi.

***

Dumbledore's office was crowded. Timothy Jody sat quietly in a chair by the wall, beneath the portraits of past headmasters. The light dusting of dirt on his clothes hinted that his evening had been far from peaceful.

Professor Sprout was observing him closely, clearly the most invested in ensuring a fair resolution. By the Pensieve stood Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Filius Flitwick, and Alastor Moody.

The various devices, artifacts, and the quiet murmurs of the portraits created a noisy atmosphere, making it difficult to relax. Although Timothy Jody appeared calm, his eyes were closed as if he were asleep. Nearby, the phoenix watched him with interest, showing no signs of disapproval.

Albus Dumbledore had used his authority to retrieve the memory of a gargoyle that had witnessed the entire fight. This memory was now in the Pensieve.

After viewing the memory, the wizards stepped away, each lost in thought. Professor Snape, in particular, was brooding silently. If someone could peek into his mind, they'd be surprised by the curses he was silently directing at his foolish students. The intricate twists in his thoughts would earn the applause of the oldest sea captains. He had heard rumors of tension between his sixth-year students and the small group of sixth-year Gryffindors, but he hadn't expected it to escalate like this...

McGonagall, on the other hand, was glowing with satisfaction. She had thoroughly enjoyed watching her student skillfully and tactically use transfiguration. She noticed his lack of experience, but she knew that would improve with time.

"He'll make an excellent fighter," said Moody, leaning on his staff. That was all he said, and it was enough. He had already shared his thoughts while viewing the gargoyle's memory.

Filius Flitwick only nodded in agreement. From his experience, he could see the weaknesses in the Gryffindor student's actions, but what could one expect from a student? He himself had come into his own as a duelist well past his twenties. Overall, the spells and the battle itself had impressed the Charms professor. He had no prejudice against this student, acknowledging that his magical talent was just beginning to bloom. He wouldn't mind having such an assistant himself.

Dumbledore settled into his headmaster's chair. In the next moment, a steaming cup of wonderfully aromatic tea and a plate of lemon drops, which the headmaster loved so much, appeared before him.

"Well, my friends," the headmaster said after some reflection. "What should we do?"

"The Gryffindor student is not at fault," Flitwick said. "The Slytherin students thought they could handle him. They were clearly mistaken."

"I liked how he took down Matthew Travers," Moody smirked. "I remember how his uncle screamed when I dragged him to the lower levels of Azkaban. Music to my ears."

"Timothy was defending himself," McGonagall said calmly. "There was no malicious intent in his actions."

No one was particularly concerned about the students' injuries. Duels at school were common enough, though powerful ones like this were rare. And Quidditch was far from safe as well. Broken arms and legs were among the milder injuries.

Everyone looked at Snape. He remembered how the student had pressed his wand to his forehead. In the boy's eyes, he had seen a readiness to use something serious. Overall, Snape didn't like how the boy had treated him.

"Yes, he was defending himself," the Slytherin leader said through gritted teeth. Mentally, he was already planning to make the student's life miserable in his Potions class. "No complaints."

"Very well," nodded the headmaster.

Meanwhile, Timothy Jody sat quietly in his chair, listening to all of this.

"Mr. Jody, you may go," Dumbledore said. "There will be no punishment, but I would advise you not to be so harsh with your classmates."

"Understood, Headmaster Dumbledore," Timothy replied respectfully. "I'll try to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"Thank you," nodded the headmaster. "Good night."

Timothy Jody left, leaving only the adults in the office. Snape lingered for a while before also leaving, along with the other heads of houses. They needed to patrol the school.

"What do you think, Alastor?" Dumbledore asked, turning to Moody.

"The boy has great potential," Moody said after some thought. His magical eye spun wildly, not lingering on anything in particular. "He could be a great asset to us in our work if you're so sure that the Dark Lord will return."

"Do you think he'll join us so easily?" Dumbledore asked.

They both knew what they were talking about.

"You'll find a way to persuade him," Moody chuckled.

Dumbledore fell into thought. His mind was filled with various intriguing plans and ideas. Some of them would make other wizards gleefully string him up. But for now, he wasn't sure what exactly would attract this boy. The only lead so far was knowledge. But first, he needed to understand how the boy felt about him.

***

Returning to the Gryffindor common room went smoothly. This time, I decided not to go to the library but to take a little break instead. As soon as I stepped through the portrait hole, I was met with a variety of stares from the students. There were surprised looks, frightened ones, happy faces, and some that were simply neutral. I couldn't help but wonder if the students of my own house had set me up. Or maybe not? I clearly remembered the gray zone that had formed around me during lunch and dinner.

Chuckling to myself, I brushed off my shoulders in a somewhat theatrical manner, as if dusting off specks of dirt. Understanding dawned in their eyes suddenly, but I paid them no further attention and hurried to my dormitory. There, I collapsed onto my bed and relaxed a bit!

Of course, I couldn't just lie there doing nothing for too long. I had to get up. Grabbing a change of clothes, I decided to head to the bathhouse I knew of. I wanted to wash off the sweat, stress, and the day's exertions.

I left the dormitory and made my way towards the baths. The students were still in the common room. As soon as I appeared, they fell silent. It irritated me a bit. The portrait closed behind me, and I exhaled, feeling the pressure from the other students lift.

Hogwarts had plenty of bathhouses. There were communal ones where several people could bathe at once, and there were private ones. I had access to the private baths because I was Professor McGonagall's assistant.

After heating the water and releasing bubbles from a special tap, I sank into the tub. The water splashed everywhere before enveloping my body. The soapy bubbles instantly covered me, and along with the hot water, created an incredibly pleasant sensation.

Magic gently wrapped around me, keeping me from sinking too deep while allowing me to relax. Suddenly, a ghostly head emerged from the water. It was Moaning Myrtle. She shook her ghostly hair, adjusted her glasses, and grinned.

"Ah, look who we have here," she said. "Timothy Jody! What a surprise!"

"Hello," I replied. I didn't really feel like talking, but I wasn't going to chase her away either. There was no point, since she could walk through walls and spy on anyone she wanted. "How are your days going?"

"Oh!" The ghostly girl seemed surprised. "Well, nothing new. I saw your fight with those nasty Slytherins. Serves them right! All the ghosts are talking about it."

"Really?" I looked at her. "What are they saying?"

"Sir Nicholas fully supports your actions," she said. "But the Bloody Baron disapproves. After all, he's the Slytherin house ghost. Still, he's more pleased with his own students. Peeves wanted to join in on your fun but backed out at the last minute for some reason."

"I see," I nodded. I wasn't even surprised. Ghosts need entertainment too.

"By the way, I overheard some of the girls talking about you," she said with a smirk. "Even the little fourth-year brats."

"And what are they saying?" I asked.

"Oh, just how cool and smart you are," she said. "And today, they're adding that you're strong too. Even some of the seventh-year girls are interested in you."

"That's just what I needed," I sighed. Yes, female attention can be incredibly stressful. Not that I would be against it, but I really didn't want to start receiving hundreds of letters, notes, and cookies spiked with Amortentia.

"Hee hee," she giggled, and then dived under the water. A second later, I felt cool fingers on my smaller comrade. At first, he didn't understand what was happening, but then, as soon as he understood, he immediately got into battle formation.

"Myrtle," I called her.

"Yes?" Her head looked out. There were happy little imps in her eyes. I continued to feel a cool palm on my battle friend.

"What are you doing there?" I decided to ask.

"Something interesting," she answered and tilted her head with a sly smile. "Hehehe. Just relax!"

"Do you do such interesting things to everyone?" asked he again.

"No," she answered with a little offense. "I just liked you. And I've never done this to anyone before, although I watched several students and teachers. By the way, did you know that Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick are real naughty behind closed doors?"

"No," nodded my head at that. "I don't want to know. Thank you."

Myrtle's head disappeared under the water again, and I began to feel a strange pleasure. After a while, the wave of orgasm passed, and the cold retreated. Myrtle, who emerged from under the water, was incredibly pleased and happy. Well, I don't mind, although to be honest, doing this with a ghost is a little strange.