Ballad of the Bloody Baron

Self-Preservation Instincts? In This Economy?

Everything was wretched. Wretched, wretched, wretched. The Baron hated his life–or well, his death. Regardless, he wanted to smash his head against a wall.

But of course...he couldn't. Bloody hell.

The catacombs were supposed to be a safe haven for the Baron, one in which he wouldn't be found by anyone but Ripley. It was supposed to be dark and chilly, silent as the grave.

Another horrendous hiss echoed along the stone passage and the Baron pulled himself up straight. The best way to meet a threat was with pride. No beast would put fear onto his face! At least not yet, not until he'd gotten a proper look at it.

Ssssssssssssecrets. Sssssssssssavory. Sssssssssssslytherin.

A shiver went down the Baron's vaporous spine. On second thought, he'd rather not get a proper look at this thing. In his experience, beasts that could mimic the human tongue were not to be kept as pets; he'd really have to bring this to the headmaster. Perhaps it was time to leave these tunnels. He looked around him for his companion. "Ripley?"

There was no answer. Strange. Ripley never missed out on a chance to run his mouth. Where had that silly ghost gone? Didn't he have the sense to leave while they still could? There was clearly a monster below the castle, and it wasn't the giant squid.

"No matter," he muttered to himself. He briefly brushed himself off, chains clanging lightly with the movement. Another hiss slithered across the stone. "Very well," the Baron resolved, "Not like a monster can hurt a ghost, anyhow. Ripley will get along fine."

Perfectly satisfied with that train of thought, the Baron ascended out of the tunnels with great haste. He'd had quite enough, thank you.

With a pop, he surfaced into a first-level classroom, surprising a group of Ravenclaws. He must have appeared terribly frightening for the way they all scattered at once. He shook his chains at them ferociously, inciting another round of shrieks. Idiots. Imagine being afraid of a ghost. He made sure to pass through at least six of them on his way out, and blatantly ignored Professor Flitwick's admonishments.

His mood had improved greatly.

The Baron glanced around the corridor. He was near the Great Hall, and was surprised that he wasn't hearing shouts of laughter and discussions of quidditch. Maybe he'd resurfaced during exams and the students were busy studying? The Baron shrugged to himself, and didn't bother checking the dining room to see if his theory was correct. It didn't make much of a difference to him anyway.

The Baron turned a corner and was pleased to see the wall space had returned to normal. No longer were there framed proclamations disrupting the decor. Thank Merlin. He wasn't sure if he could stand it much longer. If that horribly pink woman hadn't been dealt with, he had considered going straight to Professor McGonagall. That witch got results, he couldn't deny it.

A huddle of Hufflepuff students shuffled by, whispering anxiously. Every few seconds, a voice would raise in volume, only to be shushed by the others. The Baron slipped further into the stone in order to eavesdrop.

"...has to be a Slytherin..."

"...can't trust anything he says..."

"I heard one of the third years say that Potter might have something to do with it–"

"No way!"

"Shhhh!"

"Sorry!"

"That can't be true?"

"I don't know. He seems nice..."

"I think it's just a rumor, all of it. There's not a monster in the castle."