Chapter 104: The Bloody Baron

Harry and his two friends forced their way into the underground classroom; since they’d come this far, they couldn’t turn back at the door.

Nearly Headless Nick greeted them warmly, though late—still, the fact that living people had come to the party thrilled him.

But Harry and his friends didn’t stay long; the rotting food in the underground chamber stirred unpleasant memories, and after a quick walk around, Harry and Ron clenched their lips and bolted out.

Hermione, worried for them, followed suit, leaving only Silven as the sole living person still inside.

Silven glanced at the pitch-black, charred cake, the large chunks of rotting, maggot-infested meat, and the moldy, spoiled pudding cheese…

The smell was certainly not pleasant, but he could barely endure it.

Silven had intended to find Nick first, but today Nick was too popular—the ghosts were lined up, inviting him to dance.

With no choice, Silven decided to wait elsewhere for a while.

He took a quick look: hundreds of milky-white ghosts had crammed into the small underground chamber.

Of course, ghosts didn’t feel crowded—but for Silven, a living person, it was unfriendly; even a slight movement might send him phasing through one or several ghosts.

He could only edge slowly along the edge of the dance floor, circling the cramped room, then exiting through the door into the corridor.

Silven had meant to stretch and warm himself, but then he suddenly noticed a lone ghost drifting in the corner.

It was a ghost he’d never seen before—dressed in medieval attire, draped in a bizarre, old cloak caked with silver bloodstains.

He floated half-levitating, facing the wall, motionless—what he was doing was unclear… he looked almost drunk.

Could ghosts get drunk?

Silven didn’t know, but he realized this might be a rare opportunity.

He didn’t know how long he’d have to wait to find Nick—he couldn’t just stand around forever.

Half a second later, the wand Silvermane was in his hand.

With a low murmur, a bright blue light flashed through the dark corridor.

“What’s going on? What happened?!” The ghost by the wall jolted upright as if startled—his upper body leapt up, but his lower half remained fixed in place.

Silven could clearly see his intestines floating in midair.

“A living person…” The ghost now noticed Silven. “You’ve got the wrong place—your party should be upstairs!”

“Sir Nicholas invited me,” Silven said, his eyes instinctively drifting to the cloak behind him.

Undamaged, unchanged… it seemed the unicorn’s power couldn’t directly harm ghosts. He felt a flicker of disappointment.

“You look disappointed.”

Hearing this, Silven nodded unconsciously. “Yeah, a little.”

The next second he realized the voice belonged to the ghost—and he’d misunderstood.

“Disappointment is natural. Ghosts celebrate nothing like living people.”

Silven thought he saw a flicker of bitterness in the ghost’s eyes. “Since we can’t eat, we let food rot—as if that makes the taste stronger. As we grow numb, we use louder, harsher sounds to shock the brain… if we still had such a thing.”

As he spoke, the ghost grew melancholy, like a collection of negative emotions, radiating a pale blue aura.

Seeing Silven silent, he sighed, shoved his dangling intestines back inside, and drifted back to the corner, motionless.

He and Moaning Myrtle would probably get along.

Silven glanced once more at the cloak behind him, then returned to the underground chamber.

Though the cloak showed no damage, the ghost’s sudden reaction suggested he wasn’t entirely immune—there was still some effect.

In the underground chamber, Nick was still dancing, but he’d found another ghost he knew somewhat.

The Fat Friar, a kind-hearted ghost from Hufflepuff, was speaking with Patrick from the Headless Hunt.

But to hundreds of ghosts, a living person like Silven was like a giant spotlight—the Fat Friar had spotted him immediately and greeted him warmly.

“Ah, I know you—you’re from the Ollivander family, right?”

“Hello, Fat Friar,” Silven said.

“I thought you’d left with Mr. Potter,” the Fat Friar chuckled.

“Actually, I wanted to ask about ghosts,” Silven said. “But Nick’s been dancing nonstop…”

“Oh?” The Fat Friar looked intrigued. “If you don’t mind, tell me—maybe I can help.”

“It’s about our Defense Against the Dark Arts class,” Silven said. “I loved Professor Lockhart’s book, *Ghoul Grief*, and I wondered if Britain has anything like the Wunlun Ghost.”

The Fat Friar froze, then looked embarrassed—he simply didn’t know.

He’d become a ghost over six hundred years ago, confused and unaware, instinctively returning to Hogwarts—the place he cherished most—and never left…

He’d never even left the castle—how could he know what ghosts existed beyond it?

But it didn’t matter; today, ghosts were everywhere.

At the Fat Friar’s call, milky-white ghosts quickly surrounded them, pressing Silven in the center—bone-chilling cold surged in waves, as if he stood inside a cold storage room.

And this cold was inherent to ghosts, not magical—holding Silvermane did nothing. Within seconds, a thin layer of frost formed on his hair.

But at last, he got the information he wanted.

“I’ve never been to Wunlun,” said a ghost in tattered clothes, chained, “but if you mean a ghost that tortures and kills Muggles for fun, it’s definitely the Bloody Baron.”

Silven’s eyes lit up—this name sounded far from benevolent.

He asked further: “Is the Bloody Baron even a ghost? Can he harm Muggles?”

“Most ghosts can’t,” said the chained ghost. “But some are special. He killed sixteen Muggles and one wizard—but the Ministry’s Aurors couldn’t touch him. Those useless fools were worthless even centuries ago.”

Clearly, this ghost held deep resentment toward the Ministry’s Aurors.

“What happened to him now?” Silven asked.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “The Bloody Baron vanished mysteriously. No one knows what happened.”

“I know, I know!” Another ghost drifted over, voice excited. “About seventy years ago, a foreign wizard trapped the Bloody Baron in an abandoned village, then the Ministry cast Muggle-Repelling Charms around it.”

“What was that foreign wizard’s name? I forgot—but I remember he ran for International Confederation of Wizards President. A big man.”

“How do you know so much?” The chained ghost turned sharply—too sharply—and his head twisted clean off.

“Hmph…” Nearly Headless Nick let out a distant, meaningless snort.

“Never mind me, keep going!” The head shouted from the floor. “I even looked into it myself—found nothing. How do you know?”

“Because I’m the wizard the Bloody Baron killed. I watched him get trapped.”

“….”

That answer was authoritative.

The ghosts fell silent. Only the chained hands silently picked up the head and reattached it to the neck.

“Where is he… the Bloody Baron?” More ghosts gathered around; as soon as Silven spoke, mist condensed before him.

The ghost didn’t answer, only stared at him seriously. “If you’re just seeking thrills, I advise another way. That ghost kills wizards too.”

“Thank you. I believe that completely,” Silven said, glancing at him.

He looked young—no more than twenty, clean, no visible wounds, unlike other ghosts stained with blood or pierced with arrows.

But he seemed a bit dim.

“I’m asking on behalf of our… Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Silven rubbed his shoulders hard to warm himself. “Gilderoy Lockhart… he’s an extraordinary wizard. Maybe he could kill the Bloody Baron for good… help you get revenge.”

The ghost paid no attention—he took it as a joke. Ghosts were the lingering imprints of dead wizards; they had no life to lose, so how could they be killed again?

Still, he gave Silven the address.

“South of Wiltshire. Tell Professor Lockhart to find a mountain shaped like a fork, climb over it, cross a river…”

Right—he really was dim. He’d even misremembered Lockhart’s surname… hopefully he just couldn’t remember names.

Silven carefully memorized the long address, planning to visit during the holidays.

After that, he gathered two more names and corresponding locations—from Kent and Cornwall.

Their records weren’t as notorious as the first, but they’d been infamous dark wizards in life, and as ghosts, they’d terrorized Muggles relentlessly, causing trouble for the Ministry—perfect for Silven’s needs.

…

(End of Chapter)