Breakfast at Hogwarts is always a feast. Students are already piled up in their house packs at the long tables.
Harry, Hermione, and the crew are huddled together, laughing and chatting.
Hermione's sharp eyes catch Alice slipping in from the entrance.
She tracks Alice's steps all the way to the Slytherin table.
The kids sitting near that spot instantly jump up and scatter like she's got cooties.
Alice doesn't even flinch. She parks herself in the empty zone, cool as ever, watching them flee with a faint, unbothered smirk.
"…Oh my God."
Ron Weasley slaps a hand over his mouth, staring in disbelief.
"How can they just do that?"
Hermione's eyes are full of pity. She shifts to stand, but Harry grabs her arm.
Her voice wobbles. "Why are you stopping me?"
Harry keeps his eyes on Alice—sympathy there, but mostly resolve. "The Sorting Hat put Norton in Slytherin for a reason. She fits there better than Gryffindor. That's just facts."
"We're Gryffindors. Even if we want to help, what can we really do?"
"Help once, twice—then what? Three times? A hundred?"
"She's gotta get through this herself. Either carve out her own space in Slytherin… or get swallowed by it."
"Trust her, Hermione."
Hermione opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. The girl's always got an answer—except now. She knows he's right.
Either Alice builds her own empire in Slytherin…
…or she ends up drinking the pure-blood Kool-Aid.
Alice has no clue Gryffindor's over here stressing for her.
Right now, she's realizing that just getting stronger won't cut it in Slytherin. Being untouchable keeps bullies off her back, but to thrive? She needs allies.
Her gaze sweeps the Slytherin table, one face at a time. Then—spark. She's got it.
But now's not the time, because—
The Bloody Baron just floated in.
The blank-faced, terrifying ghost appears and immediately spots the fancy little girl from the start-of-term feast waving at him like they're old pals.
The Baron freezes. Why me? A gorgeous, high-class kid—why's she zeroing in on a creepy ghost like him?
Almost on autopilot, he drifts over and parks himself next to her.
The entire Slytherin table erupts in whispers. Since when are Alice and the Bloody Baron tight?
Upperclassmen lean in, murmuring—Is this gonna be a problem for us?
"Little girl," the Baron rasps, "what exactly do you want from me?"
Alice grins and tilts her head toward the empty bubble around her.
He looks. Blinks. Still confused.
She sighs. "If I didn't call you over, who else here is gonna sit with me?"
The Baron—very familiar with Slytherin politics—finally gets it. He pauses, then says, almost apologetic:
"Sorry. I'm used to floating solo. Didn't clock your situation right away."
"But I'm afraid I don't have any fixes. This house… it's just like this."
Alice shakes her head with a light laugh. "You've got it wrong. I'm not looking for help. I just wanna talk."
"You're not gonna turn down a lonely kid who just wants a conversation, right?"
Something complicated flickers across the Baron's horrific face. For a second, Alice can't read him. Then:
"Of course not, child. I'd never turn you away."
Alice nods. "Cool. Let's pick up where we left off."
"Left off?" The Baron frowns, then remembers. "The feast? When you asked why I became a ghost?"
She nods.
His expression darkens—like he's staring through centuries.
After a long silence, his voice finally returns, low and heavy:
"That's a story full of misunderstandings and tragedy. I'm sorry—I can't give you the details yet."
"You're too young. That kind of pain could mess with your growth."
"Got any other questions?"
Alice can feel how much it hurts him to even touch that topic. She's not about to twist the knife.
So she switches gears. "Are ghosts… souls, sir?"
The Baron studies her. "That question… Ghosts are souls. And they aren't."
"Wizarding legend says when you die, your soul moves on to another world."
"I don't know if that's true. Maybe there's some truth to it. But I've never been there."
"So by that logic, Hogwarts ghosts shouldn't be souls at all."
"But we are—just a different kind. We're tied to Hogwarts, but we can move on once our regrets are resolved."
Alice's ears perk up. "So… you're here because of regret?"
"…Yes. Or maybe not regret—more like pain and guilt I can't confess."
"Alright, little one. I'm tired. Can we wrap this up?"
Alice nods. "Super useful chat, sir. Thank you."
A faint, pained smile cracks the Baron's face. "Glad I could help."
"But let me be clear: don't get too deep into soul stuff. Anything that touches the soul tends to turn dark, bloody, painful—and leaves you with regrets you can't undo."
Alice nods hard. "I one-hundred percent agree, sir."
She finishes breakfast fast and heads out of the Great Hall.
A black-robed Snape materializes silently behind the Baron, voice like ice: "What did she say to you?"
The Baron turns, meets Snape's eyes. "As her Head of House, shouldn't you be thinking about what your students are asking?"
"Heh." Snape's lip curls into a cold smirk.