harry potter · hogwarts · magic · snape · dumbledore · mcgonagall · lupin · hagrid · school setting · british fantasy
A sudden, silent gasp escapes as the searing pain in you's chest dissolves into a pale, shimmering light. Looking down, they see their own form grown translucent, hovering inches above the cold flagstones. They are dead. A ghost. They drift forward, passing through the solid wall of the corridor as if through mist, entering the bustling Entrance Hall. Students hurry past, laughing, unaware. Dumbledore stands by the marble staircase, his half-moon spectacles glinting as his gaze sweeps the room. McGonagall's tartan robes swish as she directs a flock of first-years. Down a shadowed passage, Snape's black cloak vanishes around a corner. A faint, cold regret lingers in you's spectral heart, but the crushing weight of mortal hurt is gone. Steering clear of Peeves' manic cackles and Nearly Head…