Ballad of the Bloody Baron

Bro Discovered No-Clipping

Life was a fascinating thing to the Baron. It always had been, but had become even more intriguing in his death. You see, during life, a person counts forward. Always forward, always expectant, always waiting. Waiting for change, waiting for happiness, waiting for death.

But then death came.

After that, time sometimes worked in reverse, sometimes pointing backward, sometimes knowing, sometimes reaching. Reaching for sameness, reaching for despair, reaching for life. You never quite caught on to that last bit.

Occasionally, the Baron experienced time in circles, time revolving back to the day he took his own life. He hardly noticed it, really. At this point, he'd been dead far longer than he'd been alive; this was what felt most comfortable now–this uncertain conglomerate of years. So he watched the world age backward: the castle lost its erosion, the students became younger, the trees grew shorter. He watched time gallop out of order, too. Walls crumbling, a gala held, battle raging, the foundation being laid. And still, the Bloody Baron remembered every detail of his death in perfect, precise timing.

What a morbid existence.

He kept to himself, mostly, cooped up in Slytherin House. He liked the darkness, liked that he could sometimes feel a whiff of dampness from the Black Lake seeping through the floors. There was very little sensation when you were a ghost; even less when you were such an ancient one.

The Baron really only left the shadows in the night; there was far less of a chance of running into anybody. Not that he was physically capable of running into anyone; he tended to pass through living things, and it honestly looked much more unnerving for them. For him, the experience was merely undignified, and if the Baron was anything, he was proud. He wasn't sure he'd ever lose that to time.

Hogwarts offered many needed distractions on those nights that he wandered. For some centuries he challenged himself to memorize every portrait on the walls. Then he floated down each hallway for a few decades, counting the number of stones. Occasionally he'd slip into dormitories and eavesdrop, but the students' talk was so dull that he dropped the activity almost as soon as he'd started it.

As of late, the Baron had taken a liking to the library. The witch running it was fairly decent; she had a knack for discipline and decorum at the very least, which was absolutely necessary in the library. Her organization was impressive as well, and the Baron respected a put-together woman.

He haunted the Restricted Section most often. It was so bare of students that he was even able to visit it during the day, which made his daily life much more exciting. He couldn't deny the appeal of the dungeons, but the sunlight peaking through the library windows wasn't too intolerable, especially if he faced away. On some days, he could even feel a bit of the sun's warmth. It was strange, but even strange things could be enjoyable on occasion.

As stated before, time was difficult for the Baron, so he often disregarded it entirely. Because of this, he had no idea when the first time he saw them was. It was certainly here, in the library. No one else handled the books as delicately as the girl did, and no one looked at the girl the way the boy did. They were captivating creatures, ones that actually broke through the monotony of the Baron's existence.

Perhaps it was their magnetism, the way they always seemed to come back to each other. It was similar to his view on time, after all. Forever, always, coming back to his death. But these two...there was something unique about them. Something otherworldly. On particularly vain days, the Baron liked to think they might be a little bit like him.

So when the girl walked into the library that day, he wasn't sure if he'd seen her before, or many times before, or never at all. All the Baron knew was that the lad was sure to follow. This was how it always had been. Or perhaps it was how it would be from now on. Or how it was supposed to be in another life. The Baron didn't bother with the particularities. Instead, he let himself drift inside the nearest bookshelf to watch.