Dead of night. Hogwarts was fast asleep.
The Bloody Baron materialized at the foot of Alice's bed. One girl, one ghost—just staring.
"Let's go. The wise one wants to meet you."
Alice's soul slipped silently from her body. The All-Souls Banner flickered from her wrist into her ghostly hand, locking her form in place.
The Baron's eyes bugged out. He'd never seen anything like it—a kid who could turn into a ghost.
"That thing with Dilyxati Bode… that was you?"
Alice let just the right amount of disgust show. "The night I ran into Peeves? That was because of Harry Potter. Know the name?"
They drifted through wall after wall. The Baron nodded. "Of course. The Boy Who Lived. Stopped You-Know-Who."
Alice kept going. "Exactly. That night, the savior and his friends got tricked by a lowlife who told them older Slytherins were gonna jump me. They came to rescue me—ran straight into Peeves."
Ah. The Baron got it. That's why she'd had to show herself. "And the lowlife was Dilyxati Bode?"
"Obviously, sir."
Silence after that. Alice didn't care what he was thinking—she just followed.
Near the tower, it clicked: the "wise lady" had to be the Grey Lady. Ravenclaw's ghost. Always up here, calm but kinda melancholic. Hermione—"Miss Know-It-All"—had filled her in.
By house standards, yeah, the Grey Lady was wise.
Alice also remembered: when she first asked the Baron why ghosts exist, his eyes had drifted toward the Grey Lady.
And his first move now was to bring her here, not to Dumbledore.
Didn't take a genius: the Grey Lady was from the Baron's era. He was ancient. A thousand-year-old Ravenclaw with brains and experience? Alice cranked her guard up to max.
But right before the tower, the Baron suddenly grabbed her arm. She stumbled, turned.
"Uh—sorry. Just… in a thousand years, Slytherin wasn't always like this. There were good people."
Alice blinked. "What?"
"I mean—don't let the crap you're dealing with now make you hate the house. Yeah, it's rough right now, but that's… complicated."
Alice cut him off with a look. "No need, sir. The Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin. I get it—Slytherin isn't about blood purity or any of that surface junk."
"And if Voldemort could twist Slytherin into what it is, then I can twist it into what I want." No flinch at the name. Didn't need to.
The Baron stared, stunned. For a second, she looked like one of those legendary witches from the history books.
Then she added, casually: "But seriously—was You-Know-Who that powerful?"
"Yes, child. He killed hundreds of wizards."
"In one night?" Alice asked, genuinely confused.
The Baron choked. Was protecting this kid a mistake?
"Uh—sorry, sir. Muggle world had wars. 'Hundreds' threw me. Let's… change the subject. We're here."
She laughed it off. Grandpa had told her about World War I and II—death tolls hit different. Of course, comparing Muggle and wizard worlds was nonsense without context…
The Grey Lady waited at the tower entrance. No gloom on her face—just wide-eyed shock.
She'd thought the Baron was pranking her.
"You're Alice Norton?"
Her voice was beautiful. Alice was kinda thrilled—sparring with a gorgeous, melodic ghost? Nice.
Alice gave a medieval noble curtsy. "Yes, Grey Lady. Alice Norton. Call me Alice."
The Lady's eyes softened. That curtsy wasn't just house-ghost respect—it was personal.
"Hello, Alice. The Baron told me everything. May I… examine your state?"
Alice stood still. No way she spots the banner.
And she didn't. The two ghosts studied her forever, then shared a look. The Grey Lady shook her head, almost amused.
"I can't tell how you're doing this. But you're not a full ghost—there's life in you. Because you're still alive."
She glanced at the Baron for backup.
"Yes," he agreed. "You smell… alive."
The Lady nodded, confident now. "This form isn't harming you. But be careful. Wizards can hurt you like this—and if your soul gets injured, your body will feel it too."
"Stay sharp. Watch for dark wizards—they know soul-damaging magic. And powerful ones—they're dangerous just by existing."