(1941-12-02) Ghost Hunt
Details for Ghost Hunt
Summary: Eoin thinks he sees a ghost, but he may have bit off more than he bargained for…
Date: December 2, 1941
Location: Armour Gallery

A study group is all well and good, until you get the need to move around and do something. Eoin had to take a break. He's had quite enough of the sitting around. So now that the bulky young boy has excused himself, the third year, with his wide shoulders and thick limbs, walks along the corridor with his plump lips pursed, his arms swinging down by his sides. Eoin would very much like to head into Hogsmeade today. His desire for it is so great that he presently wears a tormented expression. After all, he can't exactly go off campus if he hasn't finished the schoolwork that needs to get done. Forcing his mind to focus on the work when he's this restless, however, would be near impossible to get anything done. Thus, the curly haired youth walks the corridor, taking just a little moment for a break.

As he passes by one of the doors, Eoin suddenly slows, letting out a 'huh' as he looks around. Something just blurred past his vision. His heavy brows crease as his head tilts a bit to the side. With careful, precise movements, the bulky youth steps slowly, a hand reaching out to the wall as he steps. Thoughts scrambling in his head, he cautiously peeks around the frame of a door, green eyes darting around the armoury as confusion etches itself on his face. "Hello?" His thick lips frown as he peers inside. Something silvery definitely flickered past his vision, so which ghost was it? It's safe to say that Eoin's curious, and it's also taking his mind off the schoolwork he should be doing.

"Yes?" came a young woman's voice in answer, down from the opposite end of the corridor. It belonged to a redheaded girl; though she was not wearing robes (likely on her way to Hogsmeade) it was possible that Eoin might recognize her as an upperclassman, a Gryffindor prefect. Even from a distance, it was obvious she was tall for a girl. "Are ye lost?" she asked kindly, taking swift steps nearer to the boy. He looked a little bit big for a first year, but it wasn't always easy to tell from a distance.

Phee cants her head to the side and flashes a bright smile, strawberry blonde hair falling in gentle cascades around her face. "Well, ye're certainly keepin' pure edgy for something. Mayhaps I can 'elp you with whatever you're 'untin' for?" she offered, and leaned down a little bit. "Me name's Phoenicia, but ye may jes' call me Phee. And who might you be, me wee friend?"

While wandering around the Third Floor Corridor, Laurean hears some voices inside the Armour Gallery. An inquisitive impulse drives his actions, and he proceeds to enter the room to investigate the source of the conversation. To the Ravenclaw's surprise, he founds Phoenicia and the young Abernathy in the middle of a conversation. "Prefect Phillips, nice to see you again. And… your name was Eoin, right? Hufflepuff, if I remember correctly. Can't tell the year without my notes, sorry. So, what are you doing here? Is there anything interesting to see around?"

"Oh, but where are my manners? Let me introduce myself: I'm Maestro. Laureano Maestro. But everyone calls me Laurean. Seventh year Ravenclaw, at your service." Laurean politely bows while making his introduction.

Eoin stares up at her in silence for, well, a bit longer than he should. Studying the older student as he unconsciously shifts nervously on his feet. "Um." What was he just thinking about? What was he /doing/? His mind almost seems to have died on him as it desperately tries to jump start again. His eyebrows wrinkle as another 'um' is murmured before the bulky youth gives his head a slow shake. Suddenly realizing that he's just staring, Eoin seems to come alive again, looking ashamed as he bows remorsefully. "Er- I'm sorry." Eoin turns his head to look into the gallery again, memory returning as he gives a slow nod. "Oh, I think one of the ghosts came in here," he answers honestly. Then, looking back to Phoenicia as if just remembering, he lowers his head and offers, "Eoin Abernathy, ma'am… Miss Phee." This, said seconds before Laurean arrives, in which Eoin turns a silent, studying gaze on him before bowing deeply. "Yes, sir. Uh." He pauses, letting his eyes drop to the floor. "Good meeting you, sir." His gaze flicks to Phoenicia again and his thick lips curve slightly into an appreciative smile. "It would be nice to talk to one of the ghosts. I never get a good conversation with any of them," he explains even as there's a thump from somewhere in the armoury gallery, thus pulling Eoin's attention as he turns, bending at his waist as he looks, as if he can look around things easier that way.

"A pleasure, Mister Eoin," Phee said with a little laugh and a small, polite, dip and curtsey. "Well, t'ain't as if most the ghosts are partial to clishmaclaiver, bein' truthful with ye." She held up a hand and counted off, "Generally ye wish not tae see Peeves, the Bloody Baron more-or-less girns all silent-like, the Grey Lady gives the willies — also silent-like, and that just leaves Sir Nick an' the Friar. Can't say I've 'ad the pleasure of their companies 'cept from a distance, but both seem warm auld min tae me. Well, if that's the case, I do 'ope ye willnae mind if I 'elp ye look, then?"

"Well, I guess conversation with Professor Binns isn't very substantial, right? His speech is more… unidirectional, so to speak. Have you been able to identify the ghost? Any details or description features would be useful to start searching."

There is yet another thump from somewhere in the room, and Eoin still bends awkwardly as he tries to peer around suits of armour, drifting a little closer to the sound. Wrapped in confusion and mystery, his brows knitted, the youth barely registers Phoenicia's words. "But ghosts don't move stuff," he says off-handedly, more to himself to anyone as he reflects. Thick lips pursed as they press together, a 'hmm' escapes him as he turns his head, blinking as he finally registers people speaking. And a look of surprise, in fact, as though he had forgotten he was no longer alone. A fresh wave of colour washes over his face as Eoin looks up at Phee. "O-Oh. I'd be happy for the help," he says carefully, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Looking up at the prefect, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he gives his head a slow shake. A moment of blankness before he gives a start, and, apologetically dipping his head, he gestures toward the sound as he moves cautiously around the suits of armour.

Phee chuckled. "I am nae convinced Professor Binns is nae a very complicated variant o' an alarm charm made tae be a prank by a 'eadmaster."

She'd more or less forgotten he was a ghost, really; when someone was that unaware they were dead and you took classes from them on a regular basis for five years, it started to affect you too.

"Tha' said, Peeves moves stuff. Though 'e's unusual fer a spirit." She furrowed her brow as she moved towards the place Eoin indicated; she hoped it wasn't Peeves. Not on Hogsmeade Weekend, please.

Laurean makes a gesture of doubt. "I don't know… doesn't seem Peeves would do something like this. I mean, he would have already performed one of his irritating mockeries. But instead, the spirit hasn't manifested directly towards us. No, Peeves tends to be more chaotic, he likes the recognition of being a prankster." Laurean's gaze was full of insatiable curiosity. What a great mystery to solve! At last, a thrilling experience!

Whoosh. A bit of something slivery flashes by, disappearing right /through/ one of the stands of armour. Puzzled, Eoin inclines his head as his eyebrows furrow. "Sir Nicholas?" Eoin takes a gamble at who might be there. His green eyes flash towards the two older students, curiosity heavily expressed on his face as he listens to the upperclassmen in silence, never interrupting. A grumble of agitation, crude words as curses are muttered, the voice faint as the source moves around.

Eoin suddenly stops where he is, back straightening as he looks a little more apprehensive. Doesn't sound very happy, and if that's who he thinks it is, Eoin suddenly feels uncertain about interrupting him. One foot slides over the floor, his heel hitting one of the stands so that the stout boy lets out an, "Oops," and turns, reaching out to stop the display from toppling over.

And then SMASH. Bottles shatter around the floor, inky, black liquid splashing up and around onto the feet of anyone unfortunate to be nearby. Eoin gives a start, blinking as he suddenly looks down at ink covered feet in an unconcerned, but surprised manner. A cackling from overhead as the prankster poltergeist hovers, arms around a bucket that he tips. Glee on his face, a mad laugh, as Peeves spills more of the ink from the air.

"What's black and drippy and makes a mess? Ooooh…" He chortles. And then a loud. "PEEVES!" Furious, Bloody Baron shoots floats upwards, and suddenly Peeves shoots off in terror, unable to hold back the hysterical laugh even as the Bloody Baron trails after him.

Phee's uneasy feeling saves her; she jumps backwards with a sudden swiftness — dodging the bulk of the ink as she lands two feet back, and fumbling with her purse to whip out a rosewood wand. "Tergeo," she mutters, her first target Eoin. Poor kid. If only it'd been the Fat Friar instead. With a swift whisk of the wand, black ink comes flying off his clothes, siphoning itself — as directed by her motions — into a nearby refuse bucket. "'elp the poor lad up, will ye, Mister Maestro? Afore 'e cuts 'imself on the shards. Mind the glass ye'self, I'll dae clean-up."

Before paying attention to Phee's advice, Laurean makes a brief statement with a look of disappointment: "Next time, I will shut up. Yes, you're right,we better fix this mess before someone gets hurt." With a quick hand movement, Laurean wields his beech wand and proceeds to pronounce a proper spell. "Reparo", he says without hesitating, and the broken flasks return to their original condition progressively, mending the chaos caused by the infamous poltergeist.

Eoin certainly was not quick enough to avoid being inked. Shoes and ankles are covered, and some splotches up his pants… Seconds before it's simply everywhere. Over his head, dripping down his shoulders. A reserved sigh escapes the youth, but he looks up, more interested in the poltergeist than the ink on his self. Except that he's dashing off, Baron streaking after him, and suddenly he's surrounded by a cleansing. It leaves the burly youth stunned for a few seconds, blinking and mind reeling, staring in the distance. He glances between the two older students, eyes flicking over their wands as he watches the spells with a flicker of interest. And then suddenly he realises one of those spells had an effect on him, looking downward in surprise. Ears a shade of pink as he looks up, he bows in thanks to Phoenicia, offering out a slow, "Thank you." His broad shoulders sag a little, but he really tries not to show his disappointment. Looking between Phee and Laurean, Eoin is impressed. Sure, he's seen the Mending charm being done in class, but to see it used so marvellously. To Phee, he asks, "What was that spell?"

Once the initial shock has worn off, Eoin does intend to help clean up the mess, too. However, forbidden from using magic, he falls into the old mundane way of cleaning up. Dropping to his knees, he unconsciously lifts the bottom of his cloak up and begins to scrub at the spot of ink on the floor. And Phee had just so generously helped clean.

Phee doesn't respond to Laurean's self-admonishment except to shoot him a sympathetic smile. Instead, she incanted again.

"Scourgify," Phee intones, with a flick of the wrist; bubbles, suddenly bubbles everywhere on the floor (and nicking at Eoin's cloak) as she makes vigorous scrubbing motions, directing invisible hands to scour every inch of the floor. "Stay still, love, or ye'll get bubbles in yer mouth, an' there are better ways tae maintain dental hygiene. Me first spell was a Cleansing Charm, this un's a Scouring Charm. Ye learn 'em in Domestics Club. Are ye alright, love? Nae cuts or anything o' the like?" Her brow furrows a little bit in concern.

Laurean expresses a sign of relief when all the ink bottles are back in place. "Yes, I think he's fine. Maybe a bit shocked, but it's pretty comprehensible. Spirits, chaos and magic, all at the same time. Definitely, I would be perplexed too. How do you feel, young boy?" The Ravenclaw checks if Eoin has any cuts or bruises.

Eoin blinks at the sudden appearance of the suds, his hand falling motionless. Well, that certainly makes cleaning easier! Giving his head a slow shake, in awe at the spells being used so easily, he stares down at this hand before he jerks alive again. He scrubs with his cloak, using the bubbles, assisting. "Huh?" Again, Eoin pauses in his task to sit back on his heels, both hands lifting up as he stares down at them. He hadn't even thought about cuts or anything. As he shakes his head to answer the question prematurely, Eoin flops back onto his bottom and brings his feet around, pulling up the ends of his pants. A glance would show the two that there is no scratches. Thoughtful while he sits and watches the effects of the Scouring charm, he murmurs quietly, "Scour-gify. Ter-geo." He might as well learn the incantation, even if he can't cast it, storing the spell in his head. Something to look forward to learning. "It would help my mom out if I knew those spells," he says off-handedly. It would be nice to be able to clean himself up before his mother gave him one of those disapproving looks whenever he got a bit dirty playing.

Phee couldn't help but laugh; he was a cute kid, that was for sure. "Well, ye should consider joinin' the domestics club. All sortsa 'andy things tae learn there that I'm sure both ye and yer mum'd appreciate." She nods along — watching the bubbles do their work — and then carefully makes her way over to Eoin to offer her hand and help him stand up on his two feet.

Once the situation was under control, Laurean started to feel a bit disillusioned. "So, in the end, no mystery at all. Just Peeves, with one of his mischievous schemes… Well, at least we did a great teamwork at solving a situation that could have had disastrous consequences. Your quick reaction and concern proves that you deserve the Prefect badge, Phoenicia. Thank you so much." Laurean puts his hand on her shoulder and shows a slight smile to reinforce his feeling of gratitude.

Eoin distractedly runs fingers over his ankles, absently checking for nicks as his mind wanders. His head comes up with a jerk at Phee's suggestion at joining the domestic club. A look of panic washing over his face. His green eyes wide with worry, locked on Phoenicia as he watches the Prefect. "But I can't," he replies earnestly. She wouldn't make him join, would she? That's just what he needs, /another/ club to join. A breath escapes from the youth as he shakes his head slowly. "I can't even keep up with the duelling and broom clubs." And the electives he started this year. He looks very sorry for not being able to join the domestics club, drawing in a breath as he tries to push away the disappointment, which only ends up showing on his face so that he looks to the floor. He's certainly not to complain out loud about not being able to get into Hogsmeade yet. His chest expands as he draws in a breath, releasing it heavily.

The redhead finds her cheeks turning pink to match; she smiles diffidently and shakes her head from side to side. "S'kinda ye tae say, Mister Maestro," she manages to get out, and nods. The smile only gets warmer at Eoin's fit of panic. "That's alright, luverly. I understand, it's all quite a bit tae take in, innit?" She felt a little sheepish for not remembering him from her other clubs, but she had had a lot to manage this year. "May'aps we can practice those spells sometimes when ye dinnae feel so overwhelmed, aye? But fer now, I'd best be on me way. I've a friend tae meet afore sunset. Been a pleasure tae make yer acquaintance, Mr. Eoin; I'll see ye on broom or in the ring next week?" She waved her hand about once more, reminding him of her offer to help him stand up.

Laurean remembers that he also has matters to attend when Phee talks about her meeting with a friend. "Well, I must be on my way too. It's been an interesting experience. Pretty peculiar, don't you think? But after all, I'm very glad that we've solve this little enigma together. I hope we could meet again soon, in quieter circumstances, of course. And I think that's all for now. Goodbye, and take care!" Laurean bows gently and heads towards the corridor without disturbing the silence of the gallery.

Still saddened that he hasn't been able to go to Hogsmeade, that's dulled down a little as relief floods through him. At least she wasn't going to insist on him joining the club. Eoin can't even begin to imagine how much more difficult that would make things. The youth draws in another deep breath, looking up at the faces of Laurean and Phoenicia. His small curves into a light smile as he locks his green eyes on Phee, the appreciation plain on his face. And then he suddenly stirs, scrambling around to his knees and - not wasting his time in standing - dips his head respectfully to the Prefect. "Thank you, Miss Phee. That would be grand." Then he blinks, seeming to just now notice the hand, brows furrowing initially in confusion before understanding replaces that, accepting the hand up even as he flushes and looks down. Eoin just about misses Laurean's departure, his mind turning off as his lips purse, before he gives a start and suddenly pivots, bowing at the waist to as Laurean walks. "Oh, goodbye, sir."

Phee gives him a good big sisterly dusting off and once-over inspection just to make sure he's alright; once she's sure he's passed muster, she ruffles his hair playfully. "An' I'll be on me way meself nae. Take care, then!"

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