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Tom stepped into the West Greenhouse, hardly even twitching from the cries of the mandrakes, which had been provoked by a cheeky first year who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Jumping down from the bridge crossing, he took the corner and then the next, and arrived at an overgrown alcove. Ducking underneath the overgrowth, he sat down on the stone bench, leaning back, and placed his right hand against the carving on the legs - a cherub angel weeping. There was a rumbling of stone, and then the wall began to turn until the alcove no longer faced the West Greenhouse but a small, indoor garden.
This garden was, to his knowledge, completely unknown. A quiet sanctuary that was free of the general annoyances - loud and rambunctious students, his Knights, Slughorn, Dumbledore, Peeves (sometimes he wondered at the merits of learning exorcism, just to get that blasted poltergeist to leave him alone) - that Hogwarts was rife with.
He walked to the marble bench in front of the fountain, sat down, and opened up his latest spoils from the Restricted Section: Secrets of the Darkest Arts by Owle Bullock. It was a book that was certainly not a required reading for any of his classes, but then again most of what he consumed in literature was not.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’
Well, perhaps this garden was not entirely free of all annoyances. There was a resident ghost-boy that lived here, after all.
‘Oh, oh no, nasty business, that.’ The ghost-boy gave a sniff. ‘It’ll be your ruin, in the future.’
Tom flipped to the next page. An illustration of an old wizard and a basilisk stood out prominently on the page, and underneath it, in tiny print, was the name Ἕρπων ὁ δεινός (Herpo the Foul). Reading further down, his eyes zeroed in on the word Horcrux , that measly two-syllable word that had managed to send Slughorn a paling, fearful mess. Finally, his path to immortality was all the closer, within his very sight.
‘Hey, are you even listening?’ The ghost-boy floated closer, poking at his cheek. Tom tried ignoring the chilling sensation of a finger phasing in and out of his face, but that made the ghost-boy all the more determined to be a nuisance.
When the ghost-boy had the audacity to plunge his chilling hand through his chest, Tom slammed his book shut, looking up to glare at the ghost-boy. ‘Clearly I shan’t find any peace today.’
‘It’s not my fault you won’t listen.’
‘Is it so unbelievable that I want peace and quiet while I read? I didn’t ask for your unsolicited, outlandish opinions.’
‘And I didn’t ask for you to take over my garden, you…you coloniser!’
Tom froze for a moment, blinking. ‘ Coloniser? ’ he repeated, scarcely able to believe the childishness of this boy-ghost. He stood up. ‘Do you even hear yourself? Truly, what comes out of your mouth astounds me.’ He began to march his way to the garden exit. ‘Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect much from a ghost.’
‘It’s Harry , I’ve told you this before!’ Said Harry floated through Tom, blocking the entrance. ‘And if you would just listen…’
‘I’m afraid that I don’t entertain liars.’
The ghost-boy floated upside down, coming face to face with him, nose pressing against Tom’s. ‘Hey, just because you can’t handle the truth doesn’t mean you should call me a liar,’ said the ghost-boy, before snatching the book right from his hands, floating up higher into the air.
‘Oh really? “You’ll be bald and your nose will fall off in the future,”’ said Tom, quoting what the ghost-boy had that audacity to claim during their very first meeting.
‘Well, fall off might have been a slight embellishment, but you really won’t have a nose anymore.’
‘“You’ll be defeated by an infant.”’
‘Correct,’ said the ghost-boy, suddenly looking quite smug. ‘It’ll truly be quite embarrassing.’
‘“You’ll spend nearly a year riding the back of a man’s head.”'
‘Definitely not one of your better moments, though you have quite a lot of those.’
‘And the cauldron?’
‘Hey, take it up with your future followers if a cauldron is too mundane a resurrection vessel for you.’
Tom took a deep breath. ‘ Accio! ’ he said, finally losing his patience. Frustratingly, however, while the book did shake and tug towards him, it wasn’t able to leave the ghost-boy’s tight grip.
‘Nuh-uh-uh, you’re not getting this back until you see reason.’ Harry gripped the book, and then shoved it into his translucent stomach. When he removed his hands the book remained suspended within whatever a ghost is made up of, gently shifting back and forth with the ghost-boy’s each movement.
‘Come back when you’re ready to see reason,’ he said, and then descended into the ground, vanishing.