Ballad of the Bloody Baron

What's better than this? Ghosts being dudes.

With his spirits lifted after their little adventure to Azkaban, the Baron's disorientation seemed to settle. He still slipped through time, but it was less abrupt, and more permanent. Instead of being forcibly flung about, jumping years and years at once, he was able to remain in one place for months. A school year, even. For a while, he relaxed in the year 1984. It was quiet and absolutely ordinary, and the Baron reveled in the mundanity.

Unfortunately, it quickly became boring. So, when that usual tug came along with its characteristic headache, he was thrilled.

This time, he appeared in the library and quickly found out that it was 1997 thanks to the trick Hermione had shown him. Madam Pince indeed remained wonderfully organized; a stack of articles was displayed chronologically in the Current Events section of the library. The most recent one read:

MINISTRY MOVE TO PROTECT WIZARDS by Rita Skeeter

As of yesterday, the Minister has signed the commission to require muggle-born registration. It is a great testament to his character that he has prioritized such an act above all else, and we are thankfully already seeing the fruits of his labor. Dangerous persons of questionable parentage are being rounded up by aurors and taken in for questioning. We have no doubt that the overall constitution of this grand country can only benefit from these happenings, and encourage all upstanding citizens to alert the Ministry of any suspicious behavior–

He couldn't read anything else, as some student's forgotten textbook was covering the lower half. The Baron huffed in annoyance. He wouldn't be able to move the book himself, and it was too much trouble to track down Peeves. No matter, he'd read quite enough.

It was time to find Ripley.

The Baron sank through the floors and landed in the dungeons. It didn't take long to locate the ghost, and when he finally tracked him down in a broom closet, Ripley was munching on a plastic bucket glumly.

His eyes widened when he saw the Baron. "Barry?"

The Baron huffed in annoyance. "Well, don't act as if you've seen a ghost."

Ripley cackled. "Oh, good. It is you." He flew forward, now only inches away from the Baron's face. He frowned. "But where on earth have you been?"

The Baron considered. "1993, then a brief stint in 1984. The latter was much more pleasant."

"But I haven't seen you in..." Ripley counted on his fingers, "eight months! I thought you'd finally passed on. I even went to bother McGonagall about it, but she didn't seem concerned."

"Not to worry," the Barron said easily, "I have returned. Has anything interesting occurred lately? Did Sir Nicholas finally lose that head of his?"

"No, but the Fat Friar was invited to his Death Day party this year, and Peeves and I were not. We're already planning revenge."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Yeah." Ripley spun around, arms twirling wildly. "It's a good thing you're back. Everything in the school has turned upside-down. The children hide in their common rooms. Sometimes I hear screams, and they aren't coming from the ghosts. And that white-haired boy is extremely moody."

"What?"

Ripley didn't hear him. He was too busy sticking a fist back and forth through his face. It made a nauseating slurping sound.

The Baron gritted his teeth and repeated, "What?"

Ripley looked up. "Oh! You know, that boy you always follow around. What's-his-face. The one who likes that swotty Gryffindor girl?"