A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 75 The Ghostly Gathering

At exactly nine o'clock in the evening, the Ghost Band, who had been playing the saw on stage, floated down, and the ear-piercing scraping sound that had been testing human auditory nerves finally stopped. For a moment, the already crowded room became eerily quiet.

Irving stepped onto the high stage, looking down at the sea of ​​silver-white figures below. Being stared at by so many ghosts was quite nerve-wracking; even his body felt like it was about to freeze. Fortunately, he had seen many grand occasions in his previous life and had performed on stage quite often, so he wasn't intimidated at all.

He bowed gracefully to the audience, placed his hand on his chest, pointed his wand to his throat, and uttered the words "loud voice." Then, with a warm smile, he opened his arms wide, and his clear, resonant voice filled the entire conference room: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hogwarts! Welcome to this unprecedented event!"

Owen glanced down at the stage and saw the ghosts frozen in place, craning their necks in anticipation. He also saw Harry and the others sitting around a table, looking bewildered. At a table near the window, he spotted an unexpected figure.

Albus Dumbledore!

The white-bearded, white-haired old man, dressed in a bright purple robe, sat smilingly with another ghost with an equally thick beard, observing the ghosts around them with great interest. Seemingly sensing Owen's gaze, he exchanged a glance with Owen and playfully winked his blue eyes.

"Tsk, is the headmaster so free?" Owen thought to himself. Clearly, Dumbledore had come to join the fun out of boredom.

He nodded slightly to Dumbledore and continued, "Today, we have invited three very important and well-known figures, many of you here today grew up listening to their legendary stories..."

"Let us now welcome the brave and fearless Knight Francis, the just and upright Sir Stuart, and the wise and kind Lady Elizabeth!"

Irving made no attempt to warm up the audience; he went straight to the point. The ghosts in the audience came from different eras, with vastly different thoughts and ideas, and since they were all ghosts, there was no way to warm them up.

He reached out his hand towards the black velvet curtain at the back of the stage, and amidst the screams and cheers of the ghosts, three silver-white figures floated out gracefully. As they passed by Owen, they all glanced at him in unison before greeting the ghosts who were enthusiastically approaching them.

Sir Francis was a burly ghost in tattered armor, riding a magnificent ghostly steed, a broken sword hanging at his waist. He was handsome, with a very approachable smile, and was quickly surrounded by the ghosts of the Headless Hunters, patting them encouragingly on the shoulder. Nick, nearly headless, was squeezed on the outermost edge, anxiously pacing around.

Sir Stuart, dressed in a magnificent aristocratic suit, sporting a neatly trimmed mustache, was impeccably groomed, his movements elegant and reserved. He politely shook hands with a large group of scholars and aristocratic ghosts, and also warmly greeted the ghost band that had previously played the saw.

Ms. Elizabeth was a woman with a blank expression. She wore a long dress similar to a nun's habit, was barefoot, and her beautiful face was expressionless, like an empty, heartless doll. Her long, black hair, which should have been flowing, danced in the air, and her skirt moved even without wind, as if it were about to be carried away by the wind at any moment.

She nodded indifferently to the ghosts around her. Faced with the incessant chatter, her blank face twitched, and a barely perceptible, stiff smile appeared. The fat monk spoke to her in a lively and cheerful tone, and she responded earnestly, but her eyes seemed to be gazing into nothingness.

Owen glanced at Ms. Elizabeth with some surprise. This ghost was known for her kindness and compassion in life, a great healer who had saved countless lives... He hadn't expected this lady to be so cold and indifferent. Judging from their correspondence, she wasn't that difficult to approach.

Most importantly, Owen noticed that the other person seemed to be glancing in his direction, intentionally or unintentionally, with a look of confusion and doubt. Those beautiful but empty eyes weren't the silvery-white of ghosts, but rather a deep red, which was simply unbelievable for a ghost.

"What's going on?" Owen stroked his chin. He wasn't particularly familiar with this ghost who liked Othello, nor did he think he was anything special that could impress a ghost who had lived for so long and seen so much.

He quietly left the stage, leaving it to the ghosts. Soon, the shrill music resumed, and the ghosts danced merrily across the dance floor, their figures filling the ground and the air.

Owen leaned against the wall, smiling as he watched the lively yet bizarre ball. He helplessly pinched his earlobe, then pulled two wads of tissue from his pocket, crumpled them, and prepared to stuff them into his ears. Melete climbed from his pocket onto his shoulder, his golden eyes wide open, his large ears twitching with the awful music.

"Ms. Grey, do you find this music pleasant?" Owen asked the quiet ghost beside him curiously.

"Yes, such sounds are pleasing to our ears." The Ravenclaw ghost looked sadly at the stage from afar, then floated lightly in front of Owen and said in a calm tone, "I can let you hear the sounds we hear."

She reached out her hands to Owen, her silvery palms touching his ears as if cradling his cheeks. The cold, ethereal hands passed through his ears, and Owen felt as if his ears were filled with frozen lake water. The loud conversations of the ghosts around him seemed to come through a layer of water, becoming blurry and distant.

Only the originally harsh and unpleasant scraping sound clearly reached his ears, the melody melodious and cheerful, a beautiful dance tune that Owen had never heard before, the gorgeous and long tone was the violin, and the tinkling sound was the piano...

"It is indeed very pleasant to hear," Owen said softly, realizing that his voice seemed to come from a great distance.

Ms. Grey seemed to smile slightly at him, her usually haughty and aloof beautiful face softening a little. Then she withdrew her hand, her expression remaining indifferent, as if everything that had just happened was an illusion.

"Ms. Grey, would you like to dance?" Owen asked, extending his hand to her in a gentlemanly manner as the music grew louder and more unpleasant.

"I don't like dancing with living people," Ms. Grey said, staring at his palm for a while before turning away. She then gave a cold stare to a handsome male ghost who had enthusiastically invited her to dance, until he fled in terror.

Owen watched this scene with amusement, shook his head, and said, "Ms. Gray, is there anything you like?"

"Acquiring knowledge. Although, in my current state, knowledge is of little use to me anymore." Ms. Gray glanced at him, her expression unchanged, but Owen sensed that her mood had soured.

"But learning is endless, and the process of exploring the unknown is always full of surprises," Irving said.

"Perhaps," Ms. Gray murmured to herself, then paused for a moment before slowly saying, "In fact, my mother left a secret room in the school..."

"On the eighth floor of the castle, in the Room of Requirement?" Owen said. "If that's what you mean, I've already found it."

Ms. Gray was stunned in surprise, seemingly annoyed with herself. She had finally mustered the courage to speak up, only to find out the other person already knew…

"Ahem, I found out from the fax machine," Owen coughed lightly. "It's definitely not mind reading."

"You've been searching for that thing for so long, and you're wasting your opportunity on something like this?" Ms. Gray said coldly. "So, you've passed the test my mother set for you? It seems you possess the intelligence my mother values."

Her expression turned sarcastic: "Ha, what my mother likes..."

"You haven't been inside that secret room, have you?" Owen asked thoughtfully.

"I'm just a ghost that my mother despises; I can't go in, and I don't want to," Ms. Gray said calmly.

Irwin looked into her eyes and said seriously, "In fact, it's not a test of knowledge and wisdom. Ravenclaw didn't care so much about intelligence before she passed away, because she found something more important."

"What?"

"Family ties".

"Family ties?" Ms. Gray's expression became even more sarcastic. "How could that person care about family ties? You don't know, ever since I was old enough to understand, she has never looked at my father or me properly, like a cold, indifferent machine."

Lost in her distant memories, she said emotionally, "I always craved her attention, so I tried my best to become smarter and better... but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't earn even a glance from her, let alone a word of praise. Yes, with such a wonderful mother, all my achievements seem insignificant in comparison..."

"I used to think, if I had the same wisdom as her, would things be different..." she said, her eyes glazed over, clutching her skirt tightly with both hands.

"So you stole her crown, fled far away, and then returned here after your death," Owen said softly.

"Yes, you learned it from your mother's secret room?" Mrs. Grey's lips twitched slightly. "Years ago, a boy also learned this secret from his mother's secret room. He used it to find clues to my identity and tricked me into revealing the location of the crown with sweet words..."

"My mother was angry and resentful until she died of her illness. She was even ashamed to tell others about my shameful betrayal..." Her lips trembled.

"No, she left with longing and remorse for you." Owen raised his hand and gently stroked the top of her head as if stroking a kitten, and said sincerely, "She wasn't really cold-hearted, it was just that a magical aftereffect put her in a state of absolute rationality... She only regained her emotions before she passed away."

"Before she passed away, she just wanted to apologize to you. Perhaps she didn't ask for your forgiveness, she just hoped that you could have an easier time and not continue to live in her shadow," Owen said gently.

Ms. Gray stared at him blankly, a tear seemingly welling up in her eyes. She turned her back to Owen, becoming like a silver-white statue, motionless for a long time.

"Is what you said... true?" After a long silence, she asked slowly.

"Of course." Owen stroked the little tabby cat in his arms.

"...Thank you for telling me all this," she sighed, "though the passage of time has rendered it all meaningless."

"It's meaningful. As long as it makes you feel even a little bit better, it's meaningful," Irving said earnestly.

Ms. Grey turned and looked him over for a moment, then suddenly revealed a stunning smile, as mysterious and beautiful as if shrouded in the morning mist: "Little boy, you really know how to bewitch people."

"You can call me Helena," she said softly.

(End of this chapter)