A Strange Tea Party
“Do the Nocturnes live here?” Professor McGonagall started. She wasn’t sure who to address in this situation. Her gaze kept flitting over the room from one crystalline face to another. In return, empty eyes sized her rigid posture and emerald green robes up. Clearly, not a lot of people visit this establishment.
“Plural?” one ghost asked. He sat with his legs delicately crossed and straightened his posture into perfection. It was a man with long, curly hair and a billowing chemise. In fact, nearly everyone in the room was donned in beautiful and rather dated outfits. Some were spotted or even covered with bright silver markings McGonagall knew to be blood. It was old blood: Something they died with, something they couldn’t be cleansed from after it stained the spirit that remained even as the corpse didn’t.
“There’s just one,” said another spirit, motioning to the little girl who had answered the door and prepared their tea party. The girl’s head turned slightly in the direction of the conversation, showing that she was at least vaguely listening in. She blew the steam of her tea softly from between her slightly purple lips, creating gentle swirls of vapour illuminated in the air by her blue shine. The air smelled of jasmine and McGonagall was tempted to sip at her own drink.
“The Greens live here too! I live here too!” the ghost of the fidgety little boy exclaimed from his spot on the floor, clearly wanting to be included. He looked to be around five years old which was a pretty rare sight to behold. It was most unusual for a child to have strong desires to stay attached to this mortal world due to some ‘unfinished business’.
“Edward Arnica-Davies, pleasure meeting you,” the ghost in the top hat sitting next to Professor McGonagall introduced himself, extending his hand to a cold and uncomfortable pretend-handshake. Introductions were thrown from all sides of the room and soon the discussion took many new turns that didn’t lead to any more of the answers McGonagall was looking for.
She tried being polite but everything she said was ignored as the ghosts simply wanted to vent to a new pair of listening ears. The spirits wanted amusement and clearly the woman’s inquiries weren’t amusing enough.
“Tell us a story, would you? Hundreds of years trapped in this place and nobody ever visits,” the elderly lady in the rocking chair complained. Multiple others agreed with her and asked their guest to sing as well.
“All we’ve got for our entertainment are the books in this room and we can’t even read them ourselves! What use is being a ghost when all we can do without help is float around? Little Miss Nocturne has to be the one to flip the pages for us.”
“I’ve heard every single fairy tale this library has to offer at least a dozen times and I’m starting to go mad. Please! McGonagall, was it? Do you know any stories with strawberries in it? I’ve had a craving for centuries.”
“Strawberries! Chocolate! Yes, please!”
"Are there any stories about automobiles? Cobb has told me that they're a Muggle creation akin to our brooms and I'm very keen on learning more."
It was difficult work trying to make out what everyone was saying over the cacophony. Instead of focusing on the noise, McGonagall mulled over the information she had been given: the girl was a Nocturne. Ignoring all the other pleads and the one ghost who had burst into song, she questioned further:
“Are you Catallena Nocturne, by any chance?” she clarified, looking at the girl.
“This is she,” confirmed Edward importantly, clearly not expecting the girl to answer for herself. Not that the girl had tried to. She dipped a biscuit in her tea and her eyelids drooped as she watched the singing ghost perform with the now-dancing poltergeists. Part of her biscuit broke off and sunk to the bottom of her cup from having sat in the fragrant liquid for too long. Not that she cared much.
McGonagall wondered if she was aware that she was the primary lightsource in the room.
“Do you live here alone?” McGonagall asked incredulously. The ghosts had said that she was the only Nocturne here and McGonagall had yet to see any living, breathing grown ups. Surely there was someone, some guardian.
Her question was followed by disbelieving gasps and offended scoffs.
“Alone?! By Merlin, we practically raised this child! I say! Just because we are ghosts… ”
“There was no-one with her when she showed up out of the blue. No-one’s come to claim her either. As far as I’m aware, there are no other Nocturnes. She’s one of us.”
Other ghosts exclaimed their agreements.
Horrified, McGonagall couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was under the impression that Miss Nocturne was a Muggle-born living with her parents. She was prepared to sit her parents down and explain that magic was real and that there was a boarding school their child should begin attending. That was what she had done numerous times before. She had never in all her years as a teacher dealt with an orphaned child who lived at some sort of ghost hotel, as it seemed.
What had happened to her parents and why wasn’t she with fostering adults or at an orphanage, at the very least?
Did the Ministry know about this child? Surely they wouldn’t allow it. Looking at the place it became very clear that it wasn’t well taken care of. How could it be, when ghosts can’t take care of a mansion with all their transparency. The child might not be well cared for either.
The girl’s -Catallena’s- apathetic silence was unnerving, to say the least. Professor McGonagall wondered for a moment, if she could speak at all.
The mansion hardly seemed like a good environment for a child only eleven years of age. The underlying feeling of dread was present even in the bustling room they were in. The cold and the lifelessness, the darkness of it all - it couldn’t possibly provide her with a whole lot of happy memories or safety.
However, one thing Minerva knew for certain. Hogwarts would serve the girl better. The professor would proceed one step at a time with figuring and helping this girl out.
She reached into a sizable pocket in her robes and pulled out a letter. Several ghosts scrambled to see what it was and who it was for. The singing ceased.
“Mail! It’s mail! A real envelope! Oh, how I wish to smell it! The smell of fresh paper…” the ghost of a short-haired woman wailed.
McGonagall offered the letter to Catallena, who finally seemed to show interest. Catallena set her nearly empty cup down and warily reached for the letter with one slightly shaky hand. She opened it after turning it around in her hands, as if trying to figure out how to proceed. As if she’d never received mail before.
Two pieces of folded parchment landed in her lap. She unfolded the first one and read the following (McGonagall was pleased to find that she could at least read):
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Ms Nocturne ,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
The professor explained further as Catallena thought the words over:
“Children with magical abilities, such as yourself, spend seven academic years at Hogwarts where they are taught how to control and utilise magic. You have exhibited magical abilities yourself - therefore earning a place amongst other students your age from different backgrounds. You are what we call a Muggle-born. Muggle-borns are magical children born to non-magical parents, and though some pure-blood and half-blood families have a longer history with magic, you will find that such advantages won’t guarantee greater abilities at Hogwarts.
It would seem to me that you are already somewhat versed in magic. Never before have I met a witch quite as… bright… as you. I’m certain you will do well for yourself at the school and become a great witch." (At this, the professor smiled a somewhat cautious but warm and comforting smile.)
"First term begins shortly and before that you will need a trip to Diagon Alley for your school supplies - should you accept education at Hogwarts. The other parchment holds a list of all the things needed.“ Checking the small golden clock hanging around her neck for the time, McGonagall addressed the girl once more.
“Should you feel up to it, we could travel to Diagon Alley at once. I will of course accompany you, as is the custom.”
A tense silence ensued. Ghosts looked back and forth between the two and McGonagall held her breath as she waited for a response.
“A school for other children like me? I should like that,” a small and weak voice answered the professor. Glassy light grey eyes fluttered tiredly around the room from ghost to ghost and then stopped at McGonagall.
So she could speak after all , thought McGonagall, taken aback. Her voice was deeper and raspier than her appearance let on, and it sounded like it had stayed unused for years. All the older woman could do was nod and stand up from the sofa after Catallena.
“Wonderful. I’m certain you will find Hogwarts to be a place for great memories and friendships as well as the best education this part of the world has to offer,” the professor promised, now quite touched by the little girl as she smiled a small and hopeful smile.
Big silvery dollops of ghost-tears slid down the faces of many ghosts. Some were angry and upset as they begged the little girl not to go. “It is so awfully dark and boring without you here!” they would cry. Others shed happy tears as they reminisced about their own school years at wizarding schools. The little Green boy kept thrashing around and insisting in a flurry of limbs that it was totally unfair that the girl got to go to school without him.
Poltergeists protested by wreaking havoc, as always.
McGonagall waited in the entrance hall as the girl changed from her nightgown into a cream coloured frilly dress and they set off at once, fleeing the desperate calls of ghosts that kept going on and on about how Miss Nocturne couldn’t leave as they didn’t give her permission to attend a school so far away from them. Ice cold hands tried to get a hold of her little body to stop her from opening the front door, for “ The tea party isn’t over yet! There’s still some tea left! ”
Catallena tried reassuring the ghosts by nodding along to their words, promising that she would come back and that no , she wasn’t ‘abandoning them for good in order to become a wand waving lunatic who forgot to be thankful to the hard-working and self-sacrificing ghosts that raised her’.
McGonagall hurried them along as the ghosts were not behaving very nicely in her opinion.
Muffled shouts carried out into the yard as the pair walked to the end of the garden (Catallena with great practice) where the impossibly tall and intricate iron gates met them. McGonagall offered a hand and explained how they were to travel to London for their shopping. Accepting the hand she was offered, Catallena held on tightly as they disappeared from the dark garden with a loud crack.
The noise travelled between dark blue rose bushes and dried up fountains louder than any other noise had since the manor last housed more than one person. Stunned silence followed in its wake and a stoney statue stirred slightly at the commotion before pulling the snow blanket fully over his sleeping form.