What a life he must have lived! She listened intently, paying no attention to obstacles in her path and letting them pass through her as she focused on Professor Lissington’s story. Traveling the world and having to defend himself against the dark arts. It was very appropriate for his position. She was a million follow-up questions, but he seemed to want to know about her.
When he turned the question on her, she ceased floating forward and hung in place. Asking a ghost about their dreams and aspirations was a bit like asking a blind person to describe their favorite color. She contemplated how best to explain it before saying “Well… I did. I was a student here back in the 1760s up until 1771. I was pretty good at potions, like my father. He was a potioneer. And I would have loved to be one too. Get my O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Graduate top of my class. Go on to be successful and happy and have a husband and a family.” She frowned and gestured to the Hogwarts uniform she still wore in death and muttered “Obviously none of that worked out. I died here at school.” Which he knew already, since she had mentioned she died on the grounds.
“Ghosts don’t really get to have aspirations or dreams anymore.”, she explained, although a bit confused that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher wouldn’t know. Granted, he wasn’t exactly teaching Ghoul Studies. However, she imagined there might have been some overlap. “We don’t really change or grow anymore once we are in this imitation afterlife. We can absorb information, make new memories, but who we are at our core stops changing on our physical demise. I am who I was back then. I have the same likes, dislikes, insecurities, annoyances as I did. And I will continue to have those same shortcomings forever.”
It was a bit sad. Beatrice Fitzgerald had tormented her at school until her death. And Beatrice’s taunts that she was a bookworm who always carried around an aura of potion fumes that nobody would ever want to marry still ate at her whenever she thought about them. And Beatrice had long-since died and could never be judgmental towards her again. Theodosia would know, she flew down to London from Hogwarts Castle to witness the funeral.
She continued floating along with Professor Lissington, down the moving staircases. Although she did give him the full width of the staircase, flying on the other side of the handrail. “Now that I’m here forever, I focus on doing what I can for others. I’ve befriended professors, even though most inevitably come and go. I help students when I can, whether they’re just trying to find their classes, or they seem more metaphorically lost and need somebody to talk to. And now with so many people in Hogsmeade I get to see those students I remember well all grown up and see what they made of themselves. Although everybody at this point is at least a little familiar.” Even if that familiarity required mentally de-aging people she may have last seen years ago when they were teenagers or still young children.
Theodosia glanced at the redhead again and pursed her lips, deep in thought. “Were you in Hufflepuff? Or maybe Gryffindor? Something with gold in the mix somewhere.” If she couldn’t remember someone right away, they probably never talked. But most people she could vaguely place if she looked at them long enough. Up to seven years at the castle and she was bound to pass by most people at least once or twice.
When he turned the question on her, she ceased floating forward and hung in place. Asking a ghost about their dreams and aspirations was a bit like asking a blind person to describe their favorite color. She contemplated how best to explain it before saying “Well… I did. I was a student here back in the 1760s up until 1771. I was pretty good at potions, like my father. He was a potioneer. And I would have loved to be one too. Get my O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Graduate top of my class. Go on to be successful and happy and have a husband and a family.” She frowned and gestured to the Hogwarts uniform she still wore in death and muttered “Obviously none of that worked out. I died here at school.” Which he knew already, since she had mentioned she died on the grounds.
“Ghosts don’t really get to have aspirations or dreams anymore.”, she explained, although a bit confused that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher wouldn’t know. Granted, he wasn’t exactly teaching Ghoul Studies. However, she imagined there might have been some overlap. “We don’t really change or grow anymore once we are in this imitation afterlife. We can absorb information, make new memories, but who we are at our core stops changing on our physical demise. I am who I was back then. I have the same likes, dislikes, insecurities, annoyances as I did. And I will continue to have those same shortcomings forever.”
It was a bit sad. Beatrice Fitzgerald had tormented her at school until her death. And Beatrice’s taunts that she was a bookworm who always carried around an aura of potion fumes that nobody would ever want to marry still ate at her whenever she thought about them. And Beatrice had long-since died and could never be judgmental towards her again. Theodosia would know, she flew down to London from Hogwarts Castle to witness the funeral.
She continued floating along with Professor Lissington, down the moving staircases. Although she did give him the full width of the staircase, flying on the other side of the handrail. “Now that I’m here forever, I focus on doing what I can for others. I’ve befriended professors, even though most inevitably come and go. I help students when I can, whether they’re just trying to find their classes, or they seem more metaphorically lost and need somebody to talk to. And now with so many people in Hogsmeade I get to see those students I remember well all grown up and see what they made of themselves. Although everybody at this point is at least a little familiar.” Even if that familiarity required mentally de-aging people she may have last seen years ago when they were teenagers or still young children.
Theodosia glanced at the redhead again and pursed her lips, deep in thought. “Were you in Hufflepuff? Or maybe Gryffindor? Something with gold in the mix somewhere.” If she couldn’t remember someone right away, they probably never talked. But most people she could vaguely place if she looked at them long enough. Up to seven years at the castle and she was bound to pass by most people at least once or twice.
![[Image: 85h4kTf.png]](https://i.imgur.com/85h4kTf.png)