The two second years watched from the darkened shadows of an unoccupied dungeon. In the dimly lit passage way three plotting figures stood unaware of their observation.

“It was Morell Grestt, who told me,” began the tallest specter, “He says---“

“Isn’t he a fifth year?”

“Yes, Gerson. Anyway…Morell said he has seen him. He starts here in the dungeon, then he leaves the castle, and goes off somewhere along the grounds.”

The third joined in on the conversation. “It happens every Halloween?”

“That was when it happened originally. He use to own this castle you know, the Baron?’

“It seems like I have heard that somewhere.”

“Where does he go once he leaves the castle?” Gerson, the smallest shadow chimed back in. “What does he do?”

“We don’t know, no one does,” the third voice sounded a bit annoyed, “that’s why we’re going to follow him, you stupid git!”

“Shhhh,” hissed the first, “someone will hear.”

The three stopped for a moment to listen.

Finally when they were satisfied that they heard nothing (and nothing heard them) the first voice spoke again. “That’s not entirely true.”

“What’s not?”

“That no one knows. I bet that glubbered, Gryffindor does.”

At this point one of the hidden observers started to rise, but was forced back down by the other.

“If Gryffindor knows, than Master Slytherin must know too!”

“He probably does, but the ol’ sneed won’t let him tell us.”

“Master Slytherin can do what ever he wishes, no one has power over him!”

“Hush, you twit!”

The two hidden figures exchanged looks, though even for crouching side by side they could hardly see each other in the dark. Looks were all that was exchanged though, no comments, no words.

“Let’s go wait on the steps so he won’t slip by us,” The third conspirator suggested. The other two agreed, and the trio made for their destination.

Easing out of the shadows, once the footsteps had died away, emerged the two eavesdropping figures.

“Told you they were up to something,” said a girl with short black hair.

“Yeah,” answered her companion, “but nothing like we thought, Quinn.”

“We had better keep an eye on them, just the same, though,” Quinn returned, “’Specially after what they said about Master Gryffindor.”

Her dusty haired partner nodded, and as he did soot rained from his head, lightening his dark hair a few shades, and yet still remaining ten more darker than it truly was.

They crept up the passage after the threesome, and once more concealed themselves in a vacant dungeon not far away from the three Slytherins.

The abettors had once more struck up a conversation; the two older musing over their first Hogsmeade visit coming up, and Gerson complaining because he would not be able to go for another year.

They were just about to come back around to the subject at hand when a chill feeling swept through them and a slightly glowing form materialized a distance down the hall. The footfall of three was heard seeking hiding places, and the two already in hiding shrunk back longing for more concealment.

A lighted grey form floated ominously past their door, robed in a hooded dark garment flaked horribly all over with silver droplets. The second years felt their stomachs turn as the gleaming form glided past and up the stone steps. The trio pursuing followed a minute later and the two were left alone.

“Quinn?…Still think this is a good idea?”

“I don’t remember saying it was in the first place, Phydt.”

Phydt heaved out a heavy breath of air, “But you still want to follow them don’t you?” He asked knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

So they slunk up the steps, and winded there way to the entrance hall, passed the Great Hall with its great party just winding down (shortly to be replaced by four more in separate dormitories) just in time to see three forms slink out of the towering doors into the night.

As silently as possible they did the same, and soon found themselves out in the night air waiting for their eyes to adjust to the blackness. They watched the illuminated floating figure sail across the sloping lawn, and could just make out the little dark forms following some yards off. Watching from their post what they saw made Quinn take in far more air than she needed, and Phydt gulped. “Did he just go into the Forbidden Forest?” He asked.

“Did they just follow him?” Was her only answer.

But the real question that was running through both’s mind was, ‘Should we follow him?’ _____

In spite of themselves the two set off into the forest; tailing the lighted baron. They wandered for what seemed to be a long way, nearly stumbling to close to the trio in front a time or two.

After they had gone quite some distance, the ghostly form of the Baron disappeared behind a clump of trees and the three young Slytherins were seen to stop just outside of what must have been a clearing where they could see the ghostly form. Phydt and Quinn came to halt were the apparition was obscured from view, but listened intently.

“Why Mimsy, what are you doing here?” came a hoarse crocking voice. “It is not a good place to be on any night, especially one like this.”

All of the children had jumped at the sound of this voice, but they leaped out of their skin when an unexpected seconded voice answered in a slightly higher nervous pitch. “Baron, my lord, I did not expect to find you out here!”

“Nor I you.”

“Nice night, though.”

“Yes, full moon.”

At this Quinn and Phydt turned their gaze upward to see the perfect circular moon floating overhead, ominously.

There was a pause in the conversation.

“You let him go didn’t you Mimsy?”

“My lord?”

“Do not lie Nicholas, you will pay dearly.”

“Your lordship, please –NO---“

The nervous man was cut off shortly and horribly. The sounds coming from the clearing were just as disturbing as the sight.

Quinn and Phydt had been noiselessly making their way toward the clearing when suddenly there came a terrible screaming; the screams of a child.

Gerson Skainns had covered his eyes with horror, echoing out cries of terror, and his two companions were little better. The dark splotch of space just before them was abruptly flooded with grey light, and before them stood the terrible sight of the Bloody Baron, in his hand an ax dripping in silvery-red blood.

Phydt and Quinn felt their blood run cold as the watched the Baron raise the weapon once more over the heads of the three boys huddled on the ground at his feet. Just as the specter went to strike it down with a gruesome blow Quinn whipped out her wand and cried out, “Milwraeth Tarian!”

The baron’s ax stopped in mid air as if striking some unseen barrier. This only seemed to anger him, however, and he continued the blows with furious force.

“Help me, Phydt,” Quinn called under the strain of holding her aegis, and the light haired lad echoed the spell, doubling it’s strength. Despite all their efforts, the two Gryffindors’ shield was weakening, with the bloody figure’s nonrelenting swings, and the petrified Slytherins had no aid to lend. The y were stiffened by fear.

The Baron continued to hammer at the shield, with no escape in sight, when a mournful howl split the air. Swiftly the Baron turned, and the children could see over his shoulder a phantom wolf standing over the fallen form of Nicholas Mimsy.

“No,” the Baron breathe, but it was too late; the werewolf with one pounding leap was on him, and the ax could not save him.

With fearful cries of, “Werewolf!” the three Slytherins were off, back to the castle as fast as their legs could carry them.

With one last look the Gyffindors were not far behind, though their fear was not of the wolf.

The students reached the castle in safety, and hustled off to their dormitories to join the still roaring parties, (though none of the five took much joy from them.)

The Slytherins told no one of their fright, and the Gryffindors breathe not a word, unsure of what to make of it all. Though some unasked questions had been answered, many new ones had arisen.

But none of them ever forgot what happened that night, and all of them looked at their own house ghost with a new terrible respect.