May 26th, 1892 — an empty office at Hogwarts

It had taken Ford a while to find the right office; it had been disused even during his Hogwarts days, so he had no particular reason to know where it was, and he wasn't the Spirit Division member usually assigned to Hogwarts cases. The entire time he was searching out the office he was afraid of running into Clementine. He hadn't told her he was going to be at Hogwarts today. If he ran into her, there were three things that might happen, all equally undesirable: she might think he'd weaseled his way into this assignment particularly in order to have an excuse to check in on her prior to her debut and get defensive; she might actually want to talk about the debut, the idea of which still made him dizzy; or she might take an interest in his work, which... probably wouldn't end well.

He found the office at last, without running into his sister — though he didn't know if he would keep that up given its proximity to the Hufflepuff den. Ford checked his father's pocketwatch and discovered he was still a few minutes early. It was a good thing he'd left himself so much time to travel. This gave him time to set up before she arrived. He produced a large roast from his side bag and placed it on the desk. He considered it a bit mournfully — it would have made a fine entree at a dinner party. Unfortunately, there would be no recovering it after this.

He cast a spell to stopper up his sense of smell, then turned his wand on the poor roast. In the span of a minute it rotted as much as it would have done in a week. It looked revolting, but spirits liked that sort of thing — smells so pungent and tastes so sharp they could be experienced from beyond the grave.

Then he sat down to wait, and hoped she would arrive before the flies did.

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Theodosia Bartlett

  

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Set by Lady!

Theodosia hated being looked in on so often. So many of the other ghosts were almost entirely free from the Spirit Division's focus. But not her. No, she would get checked up on because she had been a problem spirit. As if it were her fault that death made her untalkative for a few decades. It was closing on a century since she had really been cloistered up in a cupboard in the astronomy tower or beneath the dungeons for months at a time, unseen by even her fellow ghosts. But the Ministry still made her talk to the Spirit Division regularly to be sure she was “adjusted”.

Before the appointment (and for the first minute or two of the appointed time), she had been sulking by the Slytherin dungeon fireplace. She didn’t have far to fly to reach the dusty old office. The last time it had been regularly used was around the time she was still properly alive. She made a point to fly in from the back wall, dive-bombing the Spirits Division employee while crying to make her presence known. When she turned around it was not the usual fuddy-duddy Ministry man who had called on her the last few times. This man was new; a lanky, curly-haired fellow looking at a pocketwatch. Well, that made her feel a bit bad.

”Oh, I’m sorry… I was expecting, well, not you.” she offered meekly before her eyes drifted down to his desk. A present was waiting for her on it that would make her mouth water if it could. It resembled a roast, although one that had been made before promptly being abandoned in the open for a week. The blackened husk of meat was covered in oozing soft spots and the beginnings of mold. Revolting for a human, but the enticing prospect of something otherwise lost to ghosts: taste. Theodosia’s shimmering eyes were transfixed on the offering. Although she imagined the Ministry employee was suffering with the roast right below his face and nose.

She lowered herself closer to the floor and approached the desk. ”Thank you very much for bringing this. It is most kind of you. But perhaps you would be less distressed if it were over there?” she offered while gesturing off to a table in the corner piled high with old rolls of parchment. Not that she could move it regardless.

  

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Ford jumped when she entered, not because her presence startled him but rather because he hadn't expected the sudden noise. He had a flash of concern. This was supposed to be a routine check-in, just something to check the box, but if she was starting the meeting with a cry (even if it was just to stir the pot — she seemed to have recovered from whatever emotion was seizing her fairly quickly at the sight of the roast), this might prove more complicated.

"Oh, no, it's fine," Ford assured her, waving his hand as he put his pocket watch back in his coat. "I can't smell it. Spell," he explained, with a gesture to his nose. The smell was only one part of what made it unpleasant, of course, but now that Miss Bartlett had arrived, Ford didn't expect to spend much time having to look at it.

"Mr. Humphreys is out this week on personal business," Ford explained as he retrieved the paperwork for today's visit from his bag. The top form had a grease stain from where the roast had rubbed up against it, which someone would probably ask him about in a disapproving voice when he came back, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The restaurant he'd picked it up from hadn't packaged it very well for transport. He could have carried it in his hands (as he probably would have had it been intended for human consumption), but he thought he would have felt rather silly getting past the Hogwarts caretaker and wandering the halls of the castle while carrying a conspicuous roast. "So I'll be doing your interview today. I hope you don't mind. I'm Fortitude Greengrass. Spirit Division." This last was probably superfluous given the circumstances, but added out of habit.

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Set by Lady!

Of course, this Spirit Division interviewer had used a spell. She missed casting spells. The news that Mr. Humphreys was out on business brought a smile to her face. Of the various people assigned to her case over the years she didn’t care for him very much. Thus the little outburst she began the meeting with. He wasn’t exactly mean, but unsympathetic to her plight. During the last check-up he had rather firmly stated she would not be allowed to go to Koldovstoretz and mess with their potions for a change. At least for the moment, this Mr. Greengrass was much better.

Theodosia approached the desk and looked at the dust-coated chair sitting on her side of it. She had no doubt it had already been there in the office, although she couldn’t resist giving Mr. Greengrass an exasperated look as if he had forgotten that ghosts were incapable of using chairs. With a bit of maneuvering she pantomimed sitting down before coming to hover about an inch above the seat of the chair. “That is more than alright with me, Mr. Greengrass. I’m Theodosia Bartlett, an apparent problem spirit.” For the last few words her otherwise chipper tone dropped suddenly, as if discussion had turned to something highly unpleasant. Eighty-six years did little to make her feel less insulted that the Ministry felt she needed to be regularly checked on.

“Before we start, do you mind if I-” her sentence trailed off and she pointed down to the roast attracting flies on the desk. Not that she needed to finish the sentence as she didn’t much care what Mr. Greengrass’s answer would be. The temptation was too great and she wasn’t about to wait another moment. She leaned forward and submerged her face into the roast without waiting for a response. It was far from good table manners, but if the good Lord had intended ghosts to “eat” with dignity he would have let them hold utensils.

When her face intersected with the rotten cut of meat the smell and taste teased her used-to-be senses for but a fraction of a second. In that instant it was as if she’d eaten a big spoonful of ash while inhaling the aroma of a dead animal in the Forbidden Forest. She tried to hold onto the sensation for as long as she could, but it faded quickly like a flickering candle snuffed out by the breeze. Still, it was a blessing to feel something. Theodosia straightened back up, the longing for more written across her face. Meanwhile the roast sat unchanged, only made cold to the touch by her presence.

She gazed down at the floor and buried the disappointment before looking Mr. Greengrass in the eye once more. “Thank you.” she whispered before raising her voice back to normal. “Anyway, I’m sure you have questions for me.”

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Ford might have remarked upon her using the label problem spirit. As far as spirits went, nothing in her file seemed particularly problematic. Yes, she had sulked for a few decades after death, but since then there was no particular mention of her menacing the living or trying to chase them out of the castle. Ford had certainly dealt with more problematic spirits. On the other hand, he understood why she remained on his division's task list; being located at Hogwarts meant she was in regular contact with the most impressionable and vulnerable members of magical society. Any anomaly did bear checking in on, before things got out of hand.

Before he could make any comments on the matter, though, she had approached the roast. Ford respectfully diverted his gaze until she had finished. Watching ghosts 'eat' was a bit unsettling, even with all of the experience he had with it. Half of it was probably the nauseating look of the food itself, but the way the spirits reacted to it certainly didn't help things feel more normal. Fortunately it didn't take long; it wasn't a problem to delay the interview a minute to look away.

"Just the usual ones, I suspect. I'll try not to keep you too long, Miss Bartlett," Ford said, as though ghosts had any particular sense of urgency about these things. She only had forever after their interview concluded, after all. Ford retrieved a quill from his bag and inked it with a spell, then turned his attention to the paperwork. "How have you been feeling, lately?"

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Set by Lady!

Theodosia watched Mr. Greengrass prepare his paperwork before starting with her usual report. “Things are good, I guess. There are some new professors and the new students are nice.”, she reported before thinking about a few select students who were occasionally antagonistic. “Mostly, anyway.”, she added on before continuing. “There’s also this new portrait on the sixth floor in one of the corridors who is not that kind. I don’t think she likes ghosts and tries to send me away when I’m exploring the corridors at night.”

They were minor gripes, really. But it was one of the only things she had left. The only joy left to her was the accepting nature of most of the Hogwarts residents. Furthermore, every annoyance and hang-up festered for all time. She could go on and on about the modern irritations she experienced. And, if Mr. Greengrass would listen, she could complain all day and night about a century’s worth of mean students and how unfair her death was. She would not, could not get over it. But she knew that the living did not want to hear about such stale concerns. So, she stuck to the present.

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"Portraits can be difficult," Ford agreed sympathetically. It might have seemed logical that portraits and spirits would be natural allies, being more or less immortal and often stuck roaming the same halls together. They were certainly the best and longest lasting company for each other. Unfortunately, portraits (at least well made ones, from Ford's understanding) tended to take on the personality of their model, and some of the people who could afford to have magical portraits painted of themselves simply weren't the nicest.

"Have you had any interactions with living persons lately that you would characterize as unpleasant?" Ford asked; it was the next question on his list. He was aware that this was rather telling of his office's priorities: they didn't care so much about how Miss Bartlett was getting along in general, only that she wasn't doing anything that would disrupt the staff or students. That was the way life was, though; the ghosts may have been here longer, but the livings wrote the rules, and enforced them. C'est la vie. C'est la mort.

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Set by Lady!

“Unpleasant…” she repeated to herself before trailing off into a pensive silence. Theodosia rose out of the chair and hovered back and forth. She had a lot of interactions with the living and not all of them were happy. There were those with recent deceased who didn’t like a flying reminder of death. Some students were rather selective with who earned their respect. And every couple of years she would unfortunately frighten a first year and send them screaming down the hall about the terrifying spirit. Usually muggleborn students who were just getting introduced to the magical world. But she wouldn’t call those unpleasant, per se. They just made her a bit sad.

Theodosia summarized her major living-related gripe of the year “There are some students who try to throw things through me when I pass by. They think it’s funny. We will see who’s laughing when-” around six words in she cut herself off and looked back at Mr. Greengrass. The Spirit Division didn’t take too kindly to comments about haunting, even if the hauntees really, really deserved it. So she sank back towards her chair with an imitated huff and continued “-and I don’t care for that.” She wouldn’t go into more detail about the haunting she had planned for anyone who mistook her for target practice. That she would keep all to herself.

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Ford looked up at her when she cut off mid-sentence. He frowned, pushed his tongue against the inside of one of his cheeks, and subtly made a small mark in his notes. However much he might empathize with her, this was not exactly a mark in her favor. Threatening living beings, especially children, wouldn't look well in his report no matter how favorably he phrased it when he wrote it up.

"No one would," he agreed sympathetically. "It's quite rude. Their etiquette teacher must have missed a few steps with those." While this was a textbook response when it came to Spirit Division training — sympathize superficially and then move on — he really did feel for her situation. If he had to spent all of eternity with mannerless teenagers who wanted to throw things at him, he might get ideas, too. He remembered how Hogwarts bullies could be.

"Have you considered a change of circumstance?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You might find the company more agreeable in Hogsmeade."

(She also might find the Spirit Division scrutiny more bearable in Hogsmeade; they did not have such high standards for ghostly conduct within the village as they did for the school).

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Set by Lady!

Oh, she was going to get in trouble for that little remark. Not that she was a total stranger to getting in trouble with the Spirit Division. Small stuff, usually. Back in the 1830s they gave her that restraining order when she interrupted a tour by international wizarding education visitors with constant screaming. But that was decades ago. She wondered if another one was in her future. It was possible, although it was also one comment.

When Mr. Greengrass asked his next question, she froze in place. A change of circumstances, he called it. The Ministry wouldn’t actually remove her, would they? His question had brought the worst-case scenario front and center. The thought of worse consequences was the only thing keeping her from flying through the wall, wailing. Instead, she sank down as much as she could and lost all of her previous bluster and indignation. In its place was a quivering, pathetic tone of pleading. She answered “I… I don’t want to leave Hogwarts. I am sorry, Mr. Greengrass. I just get a bit angry sometimes. People throw books at me, but it's fine, really. I won't do anything about it! Hogwarts Castle is my home. I’ve existed here for decades. My friends, living and not, are all here. Hogsmeade can be fun to visit at night but you can’t take me away from my death place. This castle isn't just a school. It's one of the safest, most welcoming places for us spirits. There is a reason so many of us reside here."

With each word she was getting a bit more frantic and picking up speed. One of the perks of having no lungs was that she could talk for as fast and as long as she wanted without needing a breath. It also meant that the mention of relocation hadn’t robbed her of coherent speech altogether with hurried, anxious breathing.

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As she sank in the seat Ford immediately felt guilty. She'd misinterpreted his question, he suspected; she'd read it as a threat rather than an offer. While technically removing spirits was within his Division's repertoire of potential consequences for their charges, it was one they seldom used. It was difficult to accomplish and even harder to enforce over time. It was always much preferable to come to solutions diplomatically than forcefully.

"I was only asking if you thought you'd be more comfortable," he said gently. "Evictions require a sign-off from the Head of the department. It's not a decision we make lightly, and it's not one that anyone can make alone. I'm sorry that hasn't been made clear to you before now."

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Set by Lady!

When he started offering reassurances, Theodosia nodded along. “I knew that. I knew it wasn’t going to be your decision alone today or anything.” she explained. “It’s just… with what was just said and then you asking if I’d be comfortable elsewhere, I assumed that it was an option that might be considered. I doubt that cases escalate to evictions without warning or testing the waters first.”

As much as she tried to trust the Spirit Division, she never forgot that they could remove, censure, or restrain her. So, she was always a bit paranoid when they started talking about things like moving somewhere else. The fact that Mr. Greengrass only wanted to be sure she was comfortable was, fittingly enough, quite comforting. “However, I am most comfortable where I am.” Comfortable… Mr. Humphreys had asked her last time if there was anything that could be done to make her more comfortable. And having thought on it, she had an answer.

“Oh, and speaking of comfort, there is something that came up last check-up that I wanted to mention!” she added before floating up nice and straight in her chair. “Might the Spirit Division know of any animal ghost, maybe cats or puffskeins, who might be in need of a happy home?” She had no idea what the Spirit Division would say to a request for a spirit pet, but it wasn’t unheard of. If the Headless Hunt could have their ghost horses, why couldn’t she have a cat?

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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At her question, Ford grinned wide. It was such a human request. Of course he knew that spirits were no less human than their living counterparts, but they often had such different perspectives on things than living people did that talking to them felt like talking to someone from a different world. It was nice to be reminded that they had more in common than not, deep down.

"I think that can probably be arranged," he agreed, jotting down the note. "I can't vouch for anything particular, of course; it's not as though we have a whole pet-store stocked up at the Ministry, or anything. But we do deal with untethered spirit animals often enough. You may have to do the work of taming it and training it yourself, though," he warned. He didn't think this would be much of a deterrent; no matter how willful the animal was, ghosts tended to be nothing if not patient. They had eternity to get it right, after all.

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Set by Lady!