Chapter Fifty-Six: Improving the Ghosts’ Meals

While Hevin was deep in conversation with Grubb, another portly ghost drifted over. Dressed in the vestments of church clergy, his expression radiated warmth and kindness.

“Strange, it’s been a long time,” he greeted, waving at Hevin.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Brother,” Hevin replied with a smile. Looking at the two round ghosts—one large, one small—standing together, he found the scene both amusing and endearing.

“Well, well, Edmund, you’re here too!” The rotund monk noticed the smaller plump ghost and exclaimed with delight.

Without further ado, he began to recount Grubb’s “legendary exploits” to Hevin.

“Strange, you wouldn’t believe how entertaining young Edmund is!” the monk chuckled. “He’s not been a ghost for all that long—just a few decades. Rumor is, he died from eating something he shouldn’t have—food poisoning!”

“I call it a noble sacrifice for the sake of fine cuisine!” Grubb retorted, clearly disgruntled at the notion of dying from mere food poisoning. “I was renowned throughout Hogwarts as a gourmet, always seeking delicacies in every corner of the castle!”

“I once discovered a most exquisite plum in the Forbidden Forest. None of my housemates dared to taste it, but I alone mustered the courage!” At this, the little ghost puffed up with pride, as though he had performed some great feat.

So your housemates survived, and you ended up a ghost… Hevin thought wryly.

The fat monk’s face was lined with exasperation as he muttered, “So that’s why you lurk at the Great Hall entrance, jealous of others enjoying their meals, and often block young wizards from their feasts?”

Grubb laughed awkwardly, admitting sheepishly, “Well, I did die right at the entrance… so haunting the doorway makes sense, doesn’t it?”

The monk chuckled, then decided to leave the tales of young Grubb behind and turned to Hevin.

“Strange, thank you for showing mercy to Barrow this time,” the monk said solemnly.

Hevin shook his head with a smile. “If thanks are due, give them to Helena. She made the decision.”

The monk nodded, then, true to his amiable nature, began to defend Barrow. “In truth, Barrow isn’t a bad soul at heart. He just has a temper and can be a bit impulsive.”

Hevin twitched at the corners of his mouth, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. Ah, yes—the monk had used those very words to defend Peeves as well…

“You are truly a good man, Brother,” Hevin remarked.

“Oh, you flatter me. But that’s what all the castle’s ghosts say,” the monk replied, missing the irony and clearly pleased with himself.

Hevin: “…”

Hevin shook his head, resigning himself not to argue further with this universally acknowledged paragon of kindness.

Turning his gaze to the two plump ghosts, and focusing especially on young Edmund Grubb, he asked, “Are these the only sorts of things Hogwarts’ ghosts can eat?”

As he spoke, he indicated with a tilt of his chin the moldy, rotting, foul-smelling “food” on the table.

Truth be told, possessed of an unspoiled sense of smell, Hevin could hardly endure the nauseating odors.

Grubb’s round head drooped, and he replied disconsolately, “We have no other way to taste food anymore.”

“What if I told you I had a way?” Hevin looked at him and smiled.

“What?”

“What did you say?”

Both Grubb and the monk stared at Hevin in shock, their eyes wide with disbelief. Grubb, in particular, seemed not only incredulous but also deeply hopeful; excitement flushed his ghostly face with a hint of color.

Hevin nodded with certainty.

“Hurrah!” Grubb soared into the air with excitement, flying around the hall shouting, “Thank Merlin! Thank Hogwarts! Thank you, Mr. Strange!”

His dramatic display attracted the attention of nearly everyone; all paused to watch the portly ghost who seemed to have gone mad.

Hevin, his face marked with exasperation, pressed a hand to his brow.

“Brother, could you please tell everyone to stop what they’re doing and relax for a moment?” he quickly asked the monk.

Though still puzzled, the monk floated to the center of the hall and loudly relayed Hevin’s request to the other ghosts.

“I suppose you intend to use the Mirror Realm?” Helena slipped her arm naturally through Hevin’s, curious.

Hevin nodded and teased, “Helena, do you realize you’re actually very clever? Even as a ghost, you haven’t lost an ounce of your wisdom.”

Helena’s mood darkened, and she replied softly, “I’m still far from my mother’s expectations.”

Knowing he could not untangle her sorrow, Hevin sighed helplessly…

Perhaps the promise of tasting food again was too great a temptation for the ghosts, or perhaps the monk’s popularity worked wonders. Either way, he quickly had all the ghosts cease their activities and relax, waiting for Hevin to make good on his bold promise.

Hevin strolled to the center of the hall, smiling, and with a casual wave of his hand, a ripple of countless translucent mirrors swept across the room. In that instant, every ghost seemed to regain the full spectrum of sensations they had known in life.

“My goodness! Is this real?”

“Merlin’s beard!”

They descended to the ground in awe, savoring feelings they had been deprived of for decades, centuries—even a millennium.

Hevin noticed that the previously forlorn nuns at the edge of the stage were now embracing each other and sobbing with joy; the little ghost Edmund Grubb eagerly took a bite of the moldy cake, only to spit it out in agony; the Headless Captain, who had just performed on stage, was now brawling with Nicholas…

Hevin observed their antics from start to finish, including the comical escalation between Nicholas and the Captain from friendly banter to outright fisticuffs.

He could not help but find it all deeply amusing.

Here’s what happened—

Once the Mirror Realm was activated, the Headless Captain threw an arm around Nicholas’ shoulders, his face alight with shock. “Nick, is this real? Have my senses truly returned?”

Nicholas, equally astonished, replied, “Sir Podmore, I fear it is so!”

Sir Podmore still seemed in disbelief. “Perhaps you should hit me, and I’ll see if it hurts?”

Without hesitation, Nicholas gave Sir Podmore a resounding slap that sent his head flying to the floor!

Podmore’s head spun wildly after parting from his body, his disembodied voice wavering. When it finally hit the ground, it bounced, landing in various positions and repeatedly smacking his own face, before rolling in two circles.

“Ow, that hurts! Oh, my head! Ouch!” he cried.

His head, hair disheveled, lay on the floor, mouth opening and closing as he shouted at Nicholas, “I said hit me, not my head! And you didn’t hold back at all!”

“You told me to hit you, so I did!” Nicholas protested righteously.

“Is that why you won’t let me join the Headless Hunt?” Nicholas muttered, just loud enough for Podmore’s head to hear.

“Have you ever seen anyone in our club whose head is still attached?” Podmore grumbled as he fumbled to retrieve his head and reattach it to his neck. “Jousting with your head, head polo, head hockey—can you manage any of those?”

“I don’t care, I feel better now,” Nicholas retorted defiantly.

“I knew it! You did that on purpose!” Infuriated, Sir Podmore brandished a club and charged at Nicholas. “Take this!”

The two launched into a fierce brawl…

Hevin: “…”

…