So there I was, rejected yet again by the Headless Hunt because of that half inch of skin. Even though their entry requirements are being beheaded, and I very clearly remember being beheaded! It hurt like hell! Well, that's probably because the executioner’s ax was unsharpened. My neck aches just thinking about it.
“Oi, Nick!” Oh look, it's young Thomas and his group of friends. Wait. Isn't it past curfew? Ah, it’s fine. As long as they get to class on time. “Found a friend for ya!”
“If this ‘friend’ of yours can somehow get me a spot on the Headless Hunt, then bring him over.” They’re playing Head Polo. I want to play Head Polo. “If not, then you can kindly shove off!”
“Ah, don’t be too salty, Nicky! They’re tossin’ their heads around in there. How are you supposed to do that if you can’t take yours off yer stump?”
How I hate being wrong. “Oh, fine. Let’s see the fellow, then.”
The boys separate, and a rather miserable looking ghost wearing a lot of chains steps forward. And when I say a lot, I really do mean a lot. “Jacob Marley.” He introduces himself. Plain and simple. I like it.
“Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service!” I bow. “Or simply Sir Nicholas, if you prefer!” I do hope he’s not the type for nicknames.
I think he’s died rather recently, so he should probably know what a handshake is. He might expect me to initiate it. Ah, well. I offer him a hand to shake and he looks at it like it’s a foreign object. Maybe not?
He takes it. Nevermind, then. Time to shake it. What did those Slytherin’s say last week? Firm grip, up and down motion, friendly expression. Got it. I think.
He has a temperature! “Oh, your hands are cold.” It’s been so long since I could feel an actual temperature. Just imagining the wind blowing through my hair instead of my entire body was lackluster. “I didn’t know ghosts could get cold, but here we are!” That’s an alright bit of humor. Supplementation! Bark of laugh! Splendid.
He looks uncomfortable, though. What was his name, again? Oh, yes, Jacob Marley. “Say, Marley, old chap.” Hand on the shoulder for situations like this. Yes. “You look like you’ve been through the ringer. How exactly did you die?” Have to make sure I’m not bringing any painful memories back. That would be awkward.
“Fever.” He responds plainly. Huh.
“Ah, I see, I see…” I put a hand on my chin, so he knows I’m having a bit of a think. So, he has chains. We know the Baron has chains. I forgot why he had chains. I should ask. “Then where did you get all the…” I simply gesture at the things in case it’s a sore spot.
“Burdens from when I was alive.” That makes sense. “You do not have them, I see.”
Easy answer. “Because I regret nothing!” Not quite true. Let’s fix that. “Well, except for trying to fix Lady Grieve’s absolutely horrendous teeth.” I have to scratch at the line on my neck. Painful memories, indeed. Whoever made that literal for ghosts should give themselves a pat on the back for dark comedy.
Marley looks unsettled by it, though. Is he worried about it? “Oh, don’t worry. It didn’t hurt that much! The beheading, I mean. Well-” Stop, lying is bad. Correct that. “It did, fifty seven chops to the neck with a rusty ax burnt like hellfire, but I blacked out when they reached my spine.” Top it off with a bit of reassurance. “I’m fine.” Perfect.
Thomas speaks up. “O-kay, I’ll leave you to it.” I forgot he was still here. I’m not telling him that. “See ya in the common room, Nick!” He says before walking off.
“I look forward to our next meeting, Thomas!” And wave. Perfect social interaction. I turn back to look at Marley. Not done yet. Okay. Conversation starters. “So!” He’s not looking at me. Fair. Probably doesn’t realise I’m talking to him. I clear my throat, and his head snaps over to me. There. Alright. “Where did you come from?” Better clarify. “Originally, I mean.”
“London.” Ah, big city.
“Oh, modern sort of fellow, I see.” That fits with what he’s wearing. “I’m from Westminster, myself. Old money, you see.” Respond in earnest. Very good.
Marley hums. It occurs to me that he’s just terrible at social interaction. I was like that once. I should tell him. “You’re terrible at talking to people.”
“Sorry.” He starts fidgeting with his chains. “I’m out of practice.” I thought he only died recently! My mistake. Fixing that.
I already have a hand on his shoulder. Ah, whatever. No harm reistablishing it! “Don’t apologize, it’s alright. What makes you say you're out of practice, anyways?”
“I have been dead these seven years, and traveling since. It did not leave much time for conversation.”
That’s a rather good excuse. “Ah, you must have seen lots of gorgeous things in your travels, then?”
“...No.” Oh, that’s sad. There’s beauty in everything, I find. Even the tiniest little ant. You gain a new appreciation for the living world when you’re no longer in it.
“Surely something has caught your eye?”
He shakes his head. That really is sad. “What about old Hogwarts over there?” I turn him around to face it. “Majestic, isn’t it? Remarkable architecture. Puts a smile on my face just thinking about it.”
“I suppose. If you enjoy that sort of thing.”
If you enjoy that sort of thing? “It’s beautiful!” Just look at it!
“It’s in ruins.” He points out blankly.
It most certainly is not in ruins! I must be hearing things wrong. “It’s what?”
“It’s in ruins?” That can’t be right. We’re both confused. “Is there something I’m missing?”
Think, Nicholas! Why would he see Hogwarts as being in ruins? He’s from London, he would have went to the school, so he might have absolutely hated the experience, which would fit with the whole ‘never seen anything beautiful’ scheme. That, or he's a muggle. Which fits with the conversation part more. There are wizard ghosts everywhere, it's hard to get out of practice with that. “Magic, apparently. You didn’t tell me you were a muggle.”
They stop playing Head Polo behind me. I can’t hear the ghost horses anymore. “Forgive me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Oh, right, he wouldn’t know what a muggle is. “Well-” And I am interrupted by Marley’s chains shaking violently against each other. “Forgiven!” Let’s just leave it like that. Okay.
“I must leave.” He says, walking away and dragging his chains behind him.
“Somewhere in particular?” I want to keep holding him. It’s refreshing.
“No.”
“Ah.” Suppose that’s fine. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Marley! Until we meet again!”
Well. That was certainly interesting.