It was the night before Halloween, and Harry found his stomach was rumbling as he tried to study for his potions exam that was held on Monday.  It was Saturday night, and tomorrow was Halloween.  Harry knew everyone in Hufflepuff was excited to attend the Halloween feast and the party afterwards.  His friends, Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Cedric Diggory wanted to go trick-or-treating at Hogsmeade. Because Cedric was a fourth year, he could escort the three first years to the village, with permission from Professor Sprout.  Sprout had just agreed, and all the other three could think about was the tons of sweets they were sure to get.

Harry, however, recalled that tomorrow was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths, and while he couldn’t remember them, he didn’t want to forget about their sacrifice.  So he had written a letter to Severus Snape, who was both an Unspeakable and Harry’s godfather, asking if he could visit Godric’s Hollow again to place flowers upon the Potters’ grave, light a candle, and say a prayer. 

Severus had replied, telling Harry he would pick him up tomorrow afternoon, and that would fulfill Harry’s need to honor the memory of his parents.  Then Harry could relax and enjoy his first ever Halloween at Hogwarts with his new Housemates and friends. Along with Severus’ note had come a small package from Tobias, Severus’ Muggle father who was an architect.  Clever Tobias had made him a haunted house from sweets, small Cadbury chocolate bars, jelly beans, licorice, Sweet Tarts, lemon drops, lollypops, caramels, sugar buttons, marshmallow ghosts and chocolate pretzels. 

“Oh, that’s lovely, Harry!” Hannah had exclaimed when he opened it.

Justin’s eyes bugged out.  “And that’s made without magic, right?”

“Yes.  Toby’s a Muggle, and he builds houses. Of all kinds,” Harry grinned. He pulled off a lolly and began to suck on it. “Mmm. Strawberry.”

“That’s wicked, Potter,” Cedric said. “Mind if I have a taste?”

Harry generously allowed his three friends to choose a sweet off the house.  “You can help me eat it all tomorrow,” he promised. “If I tried to eat all this I’d throw up.” He’d have to remember to tell Severus to thank Tobias for him tomorrow.

Now, however, he was thirsty, and wanted to get a cup of warm milk with honey. It would soothe his growling stomach and help him sleep.  He wanted to be well rested for tomorrow’s activities. So he left the cheerful Hufflepuff common room, with its soft suede brown couches and golden harvest scenes upon the wall and leaf patterned magic carpet (the carpet changed scenery with the season, right now it showed autumn, with colorful oak trees, a pond with a palomino pegasus drinking, and a pumpkin patch with a scarecrow and some corn stalks), and headed to the kitchen. 

The kitchen was right next to the Hufflepuff portrait hole, and all Harry had to do was tickle the pear next to the door to open it.

He gently did so and the door swung open. Harry breathed in the sweet yeasty aroma of fresh bread baking, as well as sweet pumpkin filled pasties, and sighed in longing.  Several house elves looked up as he entered.

“Good evening, young Master Harry Potter,” said Quigley, the head chef. “What would you be needing, sir?”

Harry smiled shyly at the elf, who wore a Hogwarts crest tea towel and a tall white hat, indicating he was both head chef and a freed elf.  “Just a glass of warm milk with honey, please.”  Justin had said he didn’t need to say please and thank you to the elves, as their job was to serve the wizards, but Harry felt odd not being polite. 

“Right away, Master.” Quigley clapped his hands and a large earthenware mug appeared on the long table in front of Harry.  “Would Master Harry Potter like to try one of Quigley’s freshly baked pasties? Or a slice of cranberry bread with butter?”

Harry’s mouth watered. He knew he shouldn’t eat before bed, that it might give him indigestion or nightmares, but he couldn’t resist the offer.  “Yes, please.”

Quigley twitched his nose and a plate with a warm pumpkin pasty and a slice of warm bread dripping with melted sweet butter appeared next to the mug. “I hope Master Harry Potter enjoys it.”

“Oh, I will, and thanks!” Harry quickly took his treat and scurried out the door.

He paused before entering the portrait hole with his feast. He hadn’t thought to bring anything back for Justin or Hannah, and he felt guilty eating in front of them.  So he decided to eat his snack in the hallway, and then go back and study.  He hoped that Potion Mistress Amalthea’s exam was not that difficult. 

He sat down on the lefthand side of the portrait hole, and began to eat, interspersing bites of bread and pastry with swallows of milk.  He had finished half of his snack when a bodiless head popped through the stone wall and cried, “Mwahhahaha!”

Harry almost jumped out of his skin.

“Scared, Potter?” giggled Peeves the Poltergeist.  He waggled his long tongue and made his eyes stretch out from his head like a crab’s.  “Did I almost make you lose your appetite?”

“A little,” Harry admitted.  The poltergeist was the bane of most students, and Harry wasn’t fond of him because once Peeves had squirted him with water and soaked his homework assignment for Transfiguration. 

Peeves snorted.  “Liar. You almost peed your pants, admit it.”

“No, I didn’t.” Harry continued eating.

The poltergeist, who looked like a shadowy young man in his twenties, dressed in a tunic and trousers with a hooded cloak at the moment, glided from the wall and stood looking down on the small firstie.  Peeves let out a loud groan, but not one that was intended to scare the boy.

Harry looked up. “What do you want, Peeves?”

“What do I want? I want to be able to take a breath of fresh air again, I want to be able to feel the sun on my face. I want to be able to taste cinnamon and sugar pastries, and to swallow a draft of ale.  Do you know how long it has been since I’ve been able to do that?”

“No.” Harry stopped drinking and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Since you died?”

“Yes! It’s been over a thousand years since I became a ghost, and oh, how I long for just a few hours to be mortal again.  I was raised in a monastery, you know, an abandoned orphan left on the doorstep. Much like yourself, Potter.  The monks took me in out of charity.”

“Did you like it there?”

“No.  I was bored out of my mind.  They had plenty of food and I was given a new suit of clothes every year, but in return I had to learn Latin and read and write and help scrub the monastery and go to prayers all day long.  And the wretched monks had no sense of humor. I used to draw silly faces in the hymnals and once I swapped the holy water with gin and got all the brothers drunk at Mass.  Abbott Pericles was a stiff, told me I was a wicked blasphemer and beat me.” Peeves sniffed.  “But I got him back for that.  I threw his best shoes down the latrine, so he had to give Mass in his old boots, ha! Brother Murdoch tried to blame me, but he had no proof, and I shaved him bald while he slept for being such a prat.  But finally I got sick and tired of all the rules there and I ran away when I was eleven.  Good thing too, because that’s when I found out I had magic.  The good old Abbott would have burnt me for being a warlock if he’d known.”

“Why?”

“Because back then Muggles thought anyone with magic was possessed by the devil and should be killed.” Peeves explained. 

“Oh. What did you do then?”

“Oh, a little of this and that.  I did tricks on the street corner for money, picked a few pockets, until old Salazar found me one day and brought me to Hogwarts.  I had a fine old time here, played pranks on all my mates and even the professors.  Oh, the feasts we used to have! They were ten times better than the ones today.” The ghost sighed in longing.  “Roasted venison with gravy, suckling pig basted in honey, swan, carp in lemon butter, frumenty, marzipan squares, plum pudding and gooseberry tarts.” He smacked his lips together loudly. “I remember all those things and yet never again shall I taste them.  Nor feel the warmth of a crackling fire or snuggle ‘neath a downy tester. Instead I am cold and alone, never to know warmth or light again.”

The ghost let out a mournful wail, like a child sobbing.

Harry winced.  He began to feel sorry for the poltergeist.  “Hey, Peeves.  If you don’t like being a ghost any more, why don’t you just . . . cross over?”

Peeves stopped crying and glared at Harry, his face turning an unhealthy green shade, like old puke.  “Oh, you think it’s that easy, do you, Potter? Ha! You’re pathetic! Cross over, like it’s as easy as stepping across a stream. I need a guide to show me the way, or else I could get lost between for eternity. Or worse, dragged down to hell by demons. You’d like that, huh? Good old Peeves, going to roast in the fire with Lucifer!”

“I never said that!” Harry objected.  “Why would you think you were going to hell? Is that why you became a ghost? Because you were afraid?”

Peeves stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.  “Of course I was afraid! I was never what you’d call a good person.  I was a rogue and a rebel, I played cards in The Hogs Head on Sundays. Matter of fact, that’s where I died, right on the barroom floor, in the middle of the best hand I’d ever had in my life. And I wasn’t even cheating . . . well, not much.”

“Did somebody stab you or something?”

“No, that would have been too easy.  But somebody slipped poison into my ale.  Killed me in two minutes.  Only I refused to stay dead.  So I became a ghost, but not one of those namby-pamby spirits, like the Fat Friar or the Gray Lady.  No, I became a poltergeist, because I was furious at having my life cut short by a bloody opportunist like Thorne Damodread. And so I have haunted Hogwarts ever since.”

Harry nibbled some more on his pasty, thinking.  Clearly, Peeves felt cheated, and perhaps that was why he delighted in tormenting students and staff.  Misery loves company.  Harry recalled that whenever Dudley was mad at Petunia for not getting him some toy, he used to find Harry and beat him up, because it made him feel better.  “That’s too bad.”

“I don’t need your pity, Potter!” the ghost snapped. Then he bent down and sniffed the piece of bread longingly. “Oh, to taste bread once more. To smell it.”

“I wish there was a way you could eat a piece,” Harry said compassionately. He knew what it felt, watching others eat while you were forbidden to taste even the crumbs.

Peeves sighed.  “Do you truly mean that?” the poltergeist asked, surprised.

Harry nodded. 

Peeves floated until his face was inches from Harry’s own.  “Actually, boy, there is a way . . . but no one is ever willing to do it . . . no one cares that I’ve been starving for a bite of bread, a taste of honey, for centuries.”

“I care.  What are you talking about?”

“Just this.  Once a year, on the eve of Halloween, I can become mortal again, temporarily.  If I find a wizard or witch who is willing to switch places with me for a time.”

“Switch places with you?” Harry repeated.  “You mean, you would become me and I would become you?”

“In a manner of speaking.  I would borrow your living essence and become mortal, as I was centuries ago. And you would become a ghost, like me.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, not so very long. About half a day.”

“Twelve hours? Then we would switch back?”

“Well? Would you be willing to trade places with me, Potter? Let me have, once more, a taste of mortal sweetness?” Peeves asked, looking wistfully at Harry’s bread.

Harry hesitated.  “Um . . . I’d like to help you out, Peeves, but . . . I’d have to be back to normal by noon. You see, that’s when I’m supposed to visit Godric’s Hollow with my godfather, Severus Snape.  Uncle Sev would have a fit if I wasn’t here and he had to look for me.”         

“Oh, don’t fret. I’ll make sure I’m back before then.” Peeves assured him airily.  “Well? Will you do it?”

“All right. What do I do?”

“Simply let me take your hand.” The ghost said, holding out his spectral palm. Then it closed over Harry’s.

Instead of passing through him, Harry felt icy cold needles stab him. He cried out, feeling the cold race up his arm and through his entire body. 

A moment later, he found he was floating above the floor, and he could see through himself.  “Peeves! I’m a ghost!” he cried, amazed.

“What did you expect? Halos and trumpets?” snorted the young man now sitting on the floor. He had brown hair down to his shoulders and shifty blue eyes and a sly smile.  He picked up Harry’s discarded bread and butter and bit into it. “Ahhh! Delicious! Thank you, Potter.” He devoured the bread and then finished off the milk as well.  Then he jumped to his feet, stroking the wool of his cloak and the smooth cotton of his tunic.  “I can feel again!” He stamped a foot down on the floor. “Solid!” He pirouetted about the corridor, giggling like a drunken sailor.  “Oh, to dance again! Enjoy your ghosthood, Potter! Ta ta!” Then he sped off down the corridor, doing cartwheels.

Harry watched him leave, feeling a bit uneasy.  He felt odd and somehow ill at ease in his new ghostly being.  He wondered what his friends would think of him, and if they could see him or not.  Could he become invisible? Or make things move, like Peeves did? Maybe he could play a prank on Malfoy? Pay him back for ruining his potion last week?

He gave a ghostly chuckle.  This was going to be fun.  He was going to scare Malfoy and go places in the castle he never could as a student.  Let Peeves enjoy his time as a human again, eating, drinking, and making merry.  After all, it was only twelve hours, and Harry planned to make the most of being a ghost till then.

Harry soon realized that as a ghost, and one who had exchanged places with a poltergeist, he could not only materialize and dematerialize at will, but also move things with his mind.  He caused the door to the kitchen to open and shut, and a loud thunderclap occur.  He soared up and through the ceiling, emerging in an empty classroom on the ground floor.  There were empty desks and chairs, and Harry practiced making them slide across the floor with loud screeching sounds, or spin about in midair. 

At first it was fun, but then Harry became tired and had to rest for twenty minutes.  Once he had regained his strength, he discovered he could alter his body to look scary, with creepy eyes and fangs and clawed hands.  He also found he could make light and a bit of heat as well.  “Wicked!” he exclaimed.  He found he could move very quickly through the air when he concentrated on a destination.

He flitted about the castle, delighted with his ability to move largely unseen from place to place.  He decided to check out the forbidden third floor corridor, reasoning that he couldn’t die a dreadful death when he was already a ghost.  He soared through the air and went through the only door on the floor.

To his astonishment, he found a snoozing three headed dog, which reminded him of Cerberus, the dog in Greek mythology that guarded the gates of the Underworld.  The dog snored so loudly that Harry was almost blown across the room.  But he managed to phase through the trapdoor beside its massive paw and floated down a dark tunnel and through a room with a floor like a huge chessboard, another that had flying keys, and still another with bottles of potions and a logic puzzle.  The last room was empty and the final one was as well, save for an ornate mirror.

Harry was disappointed.  Where was the fabulous treasure that the dog and these other rooms had been guarding? What was so great about a dusty mirror that didn’t even show your own reflection . . .in fact it showed nothing at all?

Well, at least he could tell Hannah and Justin to quit fretting over what could be in third floor corridor.  Maybe Dumbledore had been warning them to stay away so the three-headed dog wouldn’t eat them? That made sense. 

He glided about the mirror again, and had a brilliant idea on how to scare Malfoy.  Smirking, he made his way back to the dungeons and slipped through the Slytherin portrait hole.  Everything was dark, with only a few dimly lit glowlamps in the dormitories.

Luckily, as a ghost, Harry could see in the darkness.  He quickly found Draco’s bed. Draco was sprawled across it, snoring away. 

Harry grinned.  For once he thanked Dudley for his love of horror flicks, because what he was about to do had been inspired by one called Soul Trapper, about a cursed mirror that trapped people’s souls inside it forever until the curse was broken.

Normally, Harry wouldn’t have considered scaring a fellow student half to death, but Malfoy had been a royal git to everyone since he’d come to school.  He had made Hannah cry when he shoved a garter snake in her bookbag—she was terrified of snakes ever since her little brother had gotten bitten and almost died by a viper in the garden.  He had humiliated Justin during Herbology, making fun of the other boy’s slight stammer, calling him the Repeating Retard.  He had tripped Harry in the hallway while going to potions one day and when Harry’s glasses fell off, deliberately stepped on them and broke them.  Luckily Professor Amalthea knew how to mend them. He had even stolen Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor’s, Remembrall during flying class, or so said the school grapevine.

Harry recalled what Tobias had said to him once about bullies—either you had to ignore them or give them a taste of their own medicine. To Harry’s way of thinking Malfoy deserved to have a taste of his own medicine.  Just yesterday, he had boasted in the Great Hall about how he wasn’t afraid of monsters or ghosts.

We’ll see about that, the ghostly boy thought.  By the time I’m done, he’ll be plenty scared of ghosts.  After all, I am a kind of poltergeist now, and poltergeists live to scare kids, especially the naughty kind, so . . .

Directly across from Draco’s four poster was a medium sized mirror beneath which was a small chair and a table that held a brush, comb, and a bottle of some kind of hair gel. 

Perfect! Harry thought wickedly, and slipped into the mirror. 

He conjured a glowing blue light with a thought, just enough to light up the mirror’s surface, then he stuck his face almost through it and began to emit loud groaning and moaning noises.  The mirror caused his voice to sound hollow and spooky and he started to howl.

“Get me out! Please! Get me out!”

Draco stirred, as did the rest of the first year dorm.

Harry howled like a wolf, causing Draco to sit bolt upright, his eyes huge in his pale face. 

“Ahh! The mirror’s come alive!” he cried, wrapping his arms about himself.

Harry looked directly at him and screeched, “It’s so dark in here! Let me out! Or else!” He made his eyes glow red and his mouth seem full of fangs.

“G-go away!” Draco shook like  a mouse faced with a cat.

“Do you stutter?” mocked Harry.  “P-poor little b-baby! Do you want your mummy?”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Draco was trembling.

“How rude! Such disrespect! I think you need a lesson in manners.”  Harry suddenly came out of the mirror, still wearing his scary face, and lunged right at Draco, fangs bared. “BOO!”

“Ahhh-ahhh! No!” screamed the petrified Slytherin, he tried to pull away, but ended up crashing into the wall. 

“Aww! Did the itty bitty baby bump his head? Boo-hoo!” Harry teased, pretending to cry. He stuck out his tongue, making it long and coated with slime.  He swiped it along Draco’s cheek.  “Mwahahaha! You’ve been slimed!”

“Ewww! Get it off!” Draco sobbed, then tried to jump out of bed, but the sheets tangled about his feet and he fell flat on the floor.

By then several of his Housemates were awake and goggling at the strange ghost.  A few were sniggering at the sight of Draco, who always gave himself airs, sprawled on the floor and trying to scramble under the bed.

Quick as a wink, Harry slid under the bed and cried, “Look, Mum, there really are monsters under the bed! Whoo-hoo!”

Draco screamed and backed up so fast he bumped into Crabbe’s bed. “Leave me alone! Go haunt someone else, you bloody ghost!”

Harry roared suddenly, “You better not shout!”

Draco shook and gulped. His eyes swam with tears, much to his embarrassment.

“Better not cry!” Harry shook a finger at him.  “Better not pout.”

“Why?” asked Goyle, scratching his head.

“I’m telling you why,” Harry replied in a singsong chant.  “Because I, Evil Knieval, have come to town!” He gave a scornful scary laugh from deep in his throat. Then he silently thanked God that no Slytherin firstie was a Muggleborn.

There was a collective gasp from all the young wizards. 

Draco sniveled, “You better leave, or else my father will banish you back to hell!”

“You don’t frighten me, boy!” Harry growled, pretending he was Uncle Vernon, since Vernon was the scariest man he knew.  “You’re nothing but a spineless, sniveling, bed-wetting—COWARD!”

Then Harry made a loud thunderclap sound right behind the quivering Malfoy and spit cold water at him, drenching his pajamas.  “Better behave, Mlalfoy! Or else . . . I’ll be back!”

Slowly Harry began to fade, singing softly, in a creepy high-pitched voice, “One, two, Evil’s coming for you . . . three, four, better lock the door . . . five, six, grab your crucifix . . .seven, eight, better stay up late . . . nine, ten, never sleep again . . .” recalling the theme song from Nightmare on Elm Street.

All at once, he vanished from sight, though the last notes of the song lingered, making the small wizards shiver and Draco start bawling loudly.

Which brought Prefect Flint down to investigate. “What in hell is goin’ on in here?” he demanded.  “It’s the middle of the night, for Merlin’s sake! Somebody had better be dyin’, is all I can say!” He glared around the room, and then strode over to Malfoy.  “Hey! What’s wrong with you, Malfoy?”

“There w-was a ghost in my mirror!” Draco cried, pointing to the mirror on the wall.

“A ghost? You’re bawling over a ghost?” Flint demanded. “You dunderhead, ghosts can’t hurt you!”

“Y-yes, it can! It said . . . it was coming for me!”

Flint rolled his eyes. “Merlin’s hairy arse! Quit bein’ a crybaby, Malfoy!” He gave the other boy a look of utter disgust.  “What a disgrace!”

Harry drifted away, his revenge complete.  By tomorrow it would be all over school, how Malfoy was a crybaby afraid of ghost and things that went bump in the night.

He slipped up through the ceiling and ended up in the Entrance Hall, where he looked at the big clock in the corner.  It read 12:30 AM.  He still had many more hours till dawn.

He amused himself by making the sound of chains rattling beside the library, making Filch jump and swear. 

“Peeves! You wretch! Quit making that racket!” Filch bellowed. “People are trying to sleep!”

Harry swooped about the grizzled caretaker, crying, “Oh, Filchie! Where am I? Here I am!”

Filch whirled, shaking his fist.

Harry ducked, making doors slam and the stairs creak.  “Over here!”

“No, here!”

Filch spun about like a top, trying to locate him.

But Harry kept fading in and out, driving the Squib crazy. 

“What’s the matter, Filchie? Cat got your tongue?”

Maniacal laughter erupted from all over, and Filch shouted, “Peeves, you bloody menace! I’m calling the Bloody Baron!”

Harry giggled and skipped down the corridor, singing, “You sound barking mad! Get it? They’re coming to take you away, haha.  They’re coming to take you away---heehee, haha, to the funny farm—heehee, haha, hoho . . .!”

He glanced back to see Filch turn red, not looking ahead to where he was going, and then he banged into something solid, or at least it felt solid.

“Huh?” Harry whirled about, totally baffled.

And his eyes met the stern visage of the Slytherin House ghost, known as the Bloody Baron, because he had a bloody hole in his chest where his heart used to be.  “Uh, hi, Mr. Baron, sir!”

The Baron glared down at him.  “What do you mean, Peeves, causing such a damn racket?” Then his eyes narrowed and he said, “Wait a minute! You’re not Peeves!”

Harry gave him his most winning smile. “No.”

“Where’s Peeves? And how did you get in here?”

“I live here.  Peeves took the night off.”

The Baron scowled.  “What do you mean, he took the night off? He’s a poltergeist, he doesn’t need a night off.”

Harry shrugged.  “That’s not what he told me.”

The Baron put his hands on his hips.  “Who are you? One of the recently departed? Funny, but I didn’t know a student died recently.”

“Uh, well, you see . . . I’m not exactly dead, sir . . .” Harry began.

“Don’t play games with me, boy! Not exactly dead! What nonsense, sirrah! Either you are or you aren’t, there’s no inbetween.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Gracious me!” exclaimed a new voice, as the Fat Friar appeared.  “Why it’s one of my House! Harry Potter, tell me you’re not dead!”

“I’m not.”

“Harry Potter?” the Baron peered at him.  “Merlin’s bloody wounds! It really is you! When did you die?”

“For the last time—I’m not dead!” Harry cried.  “Peeves and I switched places for awhile, that’s all.”

“Switched places? How did you manage to do that?” the Friar asked.

“I don’t know.  He did it. I just took his hand and agreed to let him trade places with me for twelve hours.” Harry admitted.

“You what? Have you gone insane?” the Baron sputtered. 

“No.  I just, well, I felt sorry for him . . .” Harry explained what Peeves had said to him.

The Baron hit himself in the forehead.  “You little fool! Don’t you know better than to trust Peeves? He’s a scoundrel of the first order, he never keeps his promises.  Did you make him swear on his honor?”

“No . . . not exactly . . .”

“Oh dear!” groaned the Friar.  “I’m afraid the Baron’s right, Mr. Potter. Peeves is . . . well . . . he’s Peeves . . . I’m afraid you made a bad bargain.”

“A very bad bargain,” the Baron tutted.  “Peeves has been trying for decades to leave the castle and now you’ve gone and done it—given his free reign to go wherever he likes.”

“Only for twelve hours,” Harry argued.

“Ha! Do you think Peeves will honor his agreement? Not on your life! He’s never kept to an agreement in his life . . . or his death either.  You’re in serious trouble, young man.”

“You’re wrong. Peeves will come back,” Harry insisted, feeling a cold icy dread creep up his spine. The Baron had to be wrong.  Peeves would return.  He wouldn’t leave Harry stranded as a ghost.  They had an agreement.

The Baron snorted. “Sure he will.  As sure as the sun rising in west.  Don’t you know better than to make a deal with a lying little thief? Prrvrs only cares about one thing, Potter, and it’s not students.”

“Wait and see,” Harry said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.

“Oh, you’ll be waiting, all right. For an eternity,” chuckled the other ghost.  “Hufflepuffs! Always thinking with your heart, never your head!” Then he vanished.

Harry looked at the Fat Friar uneasily.  “Is he right?”

“Ah . . . I can’t say. Peeves has always been unpredictable, I’m afraid.” The Friar sighed.  “Come along. As long as you’re one of us, you can meet the Headless Hunt.”

He beckoned to Harry.  “Follow me.”

In mere minutes, Harry was shaking hands with the Hunt Master.  “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” said the Hunt Master.  Like all the members of the hunt, he carried his severed head beneath his arm.

Harry gazed about, they were in the Great Hall, and the hunt members milled about, mounted on spectral steeds whose bodies glowed with eldritch green and blue fire and their eyes burned with ethereal flames.  Several phantom hounds scampered about, ghostly white with blazing green or red eyes and long red tongues.  A cold chill emanated from them all.

Harry noticed that all the steeds but one bore riders.  The lone horse, a mare, stamped a hoof and tossed her head.  “Why doesn’t she have a rider?”

The Hunt Master sighed.  “Because her rider recently fulfilled his vow and has gone to his reward.  He left Fantomé behind and she has been miserable ever since.  She refuses to let any of my foot mount her.”

Harry looked at the proud mare and felt sorry for her.  He walked over and held out his hand.

Fantomé lowered her head and sniffed him. 

“Hey, girl.  Don’t be sad. Someday you’ll see your rider again.”

She tossed her head. 

Harry looked over at the Hunt Master.  “What if I tried to ride her?”

The Hunt Master laughed. “You can’t be serious! Fantomé will never allow it! A mere snip like you?”

“What if she does?”

“Boy, if she lets you ride her, you can join my hunt for tonight.”

“All right.” Harry turned back to the mare.  He gently stroked her.  “May I ride you? Just once?”

Slowly, the mare bobbed her head, stamping her hooves.  They produced an eerie echo.  Her burning eyes seemed to soften. 

Harry scratched behind her ears.  He ignored the mocking voice in the back of his head that sneered he didn’t know the first thing about riding a horse, only a broom.  But somehow that didn’t matter. Tonight was full of magic and anything was possible.  He set a hand upon her shoulder.

The next thing he knew, he was atop Fantomé’s back, straddling the saddle as if he’d been born on horseback.  The mare turned a circle, tossing her magnificent head.  Her mane whispered across Harry’s hands as he picked up the reins. 

“Easy, girl.”

The Hunt Master looked flummoxed.  “Blessed Brunhilda! I don’t believe my eyes! She let you ride her.”

Harry smiled.  “Does that mean you’ll let me ride with you?”

“A bargain’s a bargain,” said the leader.  Then he turned his horse’s head about.  “Release the hounds!” he barked.

The dogs began baying and raced towards the double doors, the hunt hot on their heels. 

Harry barely tapped Fantomé before the mare gathered herself and followed, leaping forward with the speed of an antelope.  As the hunt streamed through the doors, Harry concentrated on enjoying himself, not wanting to think about if the Baron and the Friar were right about Peeves.  He prayed they were wrong.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Spinner’s End, 7AM:

Severus woke sweating and gasping, his heart thundering like a runaway locomotive in his chest.  He quickly flicked on the lamp beside his bed.  Light flooded the room.  He forced himself to calm down, even though the awful dream still lingered.

He had seen Harry, his beloved godson, riding away with the ghostly Headless Hunt.  He had a premonition that all was not right with his godson over at Hogwarts.  Severus had learned long ago to trust both his instincts and his visions, for he was a Seer of no small distinction.  Right then, his instincts were urging him to go and find Harry.  Harry was in danger, perhaps near to dying.

The image flashed through the Unspeakable’s mind again, and Severus shuddered.  Then he waved his wand and his clothes flowed onto him. Once he was dressed, he went to wake up Tobias and tell him about the vision he had had.

“You’re certain it was one of those, Sev?” Tobias queried sleepily.

“Positive.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to Hogwarts,” answered his son firmly.

“When?”

“Now,” answered Severus, then he Apparated away to the wrought iron gates leading to the school. 

Peeves skipped down the corridor, finding a certain stone passage, then touched three separate bricks in succession. He grinned as there was a slow rumble and the wall slid aside, granting him egress out of the castle. After centuries of dwelling in Hogwarts, the poltergeist knew every secret passage in and out of the stone dwelling, and most of those had been forgotten by all save himself. He had sniggered when watching the Marauders create their map, thinking they knew all the secret passages and had marked them, when they had barely scratched the surface of them. Peeves had been there when the Founders built the castle, and had worked closely with Salazar and the masons, inventing the walls within walls. No one living knew Hogwarts as well as he, and had the arrogant youngsters bothered to ask, they could have learned secrets beyond measure. But then, most of the students treated the ghosts casually, and never bothered befriending them.

Harry was an exception, and for a brief instant, Peeves felt a trickle of remorse clutch him at his deception. He liked the boy, whose compassion had set him free to roam in a mortal body again. But not enough, sad to say, to honor his bargain. In life he had always been selfish and conniving, and death had not changed his basic make-up much. He was a gambler and mischief-maker at heart, always with an eye out for the main chance. And when he had persuaded Harry to trade places, he took it for all it was worth.

He stepped out onto the lawn, taking great gulps of the night air. Strange how the living took for granted the mere act of life—breathing. Never had the air tasted so sweet, Peeves mused. It filled his lungs with its sweet essence, and he smelled the odor of fresh grass, water, and night-blooming flowers upon the wind. As a ghost, Peeves had forgotten the sheer sensations of smell, touch, sight, and sound. They returned to him in a glorious rush and he drank them in like a drunkard gulping a flagon of wine after months of going without.

Though Peeves' poltergeist nature allowed him to become somewhat solid on occasion, it was but a trick of will and the mind. All of his abilities to interact with the mortal world were powered by his swift wit and will, and the amount of focus he had to use to make a robe flutter or a book move across a room or a loud bang usually drained him significantly. Now, however, he danced and spun across the lawn, light as a feather, and glorying in how carefree he felt.

The night air was cool upon his skin and he reveled in the soft breeze that had come up. The air had a bit of a nip in it, but even that he didn't mind. As a ghost he was devoid of feeling physical sensations, and he had only the memory of how the wind had felt, or the taste of fine wine, or the softness of silk to sustain him. After so many centuries, even that was starting to fade, and Peeves had struggled to hold onto them. Spirits who allowed themselves to forget what they had been became wisps, drifting hither and yon, chaff upon the wind, and in a way they became nothing. Peeves refused to let himself seek oblivion in that fashion.

The former poltergeist wandered down the path leading to Hogsmeade, knowing that it was yet too early for the village to be awake, but he could wait. As a ghost he had learned patience, something that when he had been alive he'd never mastered beyond the time it took to pick a pocket.

He walked among the shuttered buildings, resisting the temptation to pick the locks on the doors of the residences and spy upon the sleeping occupants. He headed up the street towards The Hog's Head, once his favorite tavern, and by chance stumbled over a drunk patron sleeping off one too many along the side of the road.

Quick as a blink, Peeves knelt beside the snoring wizard, whose robes were rumpled and stained with wine, but of good quality. An easy mark, he thought scornfully, and his fingers danced through the slumbering man's pockets, emerging with several Sickles and three Galleons. They vanished up Peeves's sleeve and the former ghost whistled as he strolled down the street.

Even after so many centuries, he had not forgotten how to fleece a yokel, and his fingers were still as nimble as ever, skilled at parting a fool and his money. Now he had coin enough to play with, and he rubbed his hands eagerly, impatient for the coming of dawn.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Abe Dumbledore, proprietor of The Hog's Head, threw open his doors for business around 7AM. Most of his regulars were still sleeping off last night's hangover, and he didn't expect to see anyone except one or two customers who normally stopped in for a pint before work. So he was surprised to see a new face stroll through the doors and come up to the bar. "New around here, friend?"

The young man smirked. "Not really. But it's been a long time since I've had a drink," Peeves replied. He held out a hand to the barman. "Name's Jerome." That had been his name before he had died, Jerome of Wickham-by-the-Moor. Later, people would shorten the title to be just plain Jerome Wickham. Brother Ansel, the infirmarian, had chosen that name for the nameless orphan because Jerome was the patron saint of orphans. But when he had died and discovered he was a poltergeist, he had changed his name to something less ordinary and more fitting.

"What's your poison?" asked Abe genially.

"Your finest ale, and would you happen to have a bite to eat with it?"

"I would, but you can get better next door at The Three Broomsticks," Abe admitted.

"This will do. What do you have?" asked Peeves, who was beginning to get hungry. And that too was a long-forgotten sensation.

"Scrambled eggs, toast, fried potatoes, and bacon. That's it. Nothing fancy."

"Sounds good." At this point, Peeves would have eaten dirt, his stomach was grumbling so loud.

Very shortly, Abe returned with a steaming hot plate of food and a foamy amber ale with a big head on it. "There you go, Jerome! Hope you enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will," Peeves said, then fell upon the food and ale like a starveling waif.

The heather ale was rich and frothy, and the taste brought back memories of sitting in front of a fire or around a dice table with long dead companions. Peeves savored the dark taste of peat with a golden overtone of honeyed sweetness.

The eggs were fluffy and cooked just right, as was the buttered toast, the crunchy potatoes, and the savory bacon. Peeves felt as if he had died and gone to heaven. After so long without tastebuds, every mouthful of food exploded on his tongue with exquisite delight, and former poltergeist found himself gasping with sheer pleasure. Nothing had ever tasted so good as that simple meal. He washed it all down with the remainder of the ale, then ordered a second pint.

He drank that one more leisurely, wiping off the foam from his lips with a sigh of satisfaction. He quickly made a decision to frequent the pub more often, told Abe he had the best ale he'd ever tasted, and said he would be back later; he paid his tab and departed, heading to Honeydukes.

As a young man, Peeves often had a craving for sweets, and now that he had returned to life, he was more than willing to indulge it once more. He pushed open the door of the sweet shop, inhaling the aromas of dark chocolate, melted marshmallow, caramel, and sticky sugary goodness.

Ten minutes later he had bought several bags of sweets, and had gone outside to sit beneath a tree and eat a few, while enjoying the mild morning, and watching people go by. While sucking on a chocolate drop he made up his mind to never return to the castle. After having a taste of the mortal realm again, he had no wish to give it up for his dreary boring undead life. Here he was free to go where he would and experience all the myriad sensations the mortal world had to offer. The last thing he wanted was to be mewed up in the castle again.

A pretty young woman was walking down the path, a small basket over her arm. She paused and smiled at Peeves, then began to gather some small pink and purple flowers and put them in the basket.

Peeves watched her for a moment, ogling her full figure and her tawny hair that fell past her shapely backside. She was wearing a claret-colored gown with black shoes and a silver disk with a cat emblazoned on it on a fine silver chain. Then he got to his feet, graceful as only a former thief could be. He pasted a smile on his face as he made his way towards her, recalling another art he had once been skilled at—flirting.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

"I wonder where Harry's got to?" Justin inquired of Hannah as they made their way upstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. His curly brown hair resembled a clown's wig, it was so thick and unrelentingly curly.

"Why? Wasn't he with you this morning?" asked the blond girl, giving a tug on one of her pig tails. She always did this when she was nervous or trying to think.

"Umm . . . now that I think about it, I don't recall seeing him before bed. But you know Harry, he could have fallen asleep on the couch in the common room, reading again."

Hannah nodded. "Maybe he's in the library? You know how he goes there early in the morning sometimes, because he says its quiet and he can study easily."

"I know, but our test for Professor Sprout isn't until Tuesday," Justin reminded her. "He has all Sunday and Monday to hit the books."

Hannah's stomach rumbled. "Do you think he'll remember to come for breakfast?"

"Maybe. Look, why don't you go on and eat, and I'll go look for him?" suggested her Housemate.

Hannah frowned. "No, I can wait. Come on, let's go to the library."

On their way past the Great Hall, they passed a group of Slytherins who were snickering and giggling about Malfoy being a crybaby and getting all worked up over a ghost.

Justin's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Hannah, did you hear that?" he gasped.

She nodded. "I did. And while I'd normally feel sorry for someone who got scared like that . . . I can't help but feel that he deserved it. He's been nothing but unpleasant and rude since we first started here."

"Right. Wait till we tell Harry." Justin grinned.

Little did he know that Harry had been observing him since they emerged from the portrait hole, following along silently. Only when his two friends had reached the entrance to the library did he decide to reveal himself.

"Tell me what, Justin?"

He materialized right in front of the dark-haired boy, making Justin yelp and startle.

"Great Merlin's ghost!" Hannah cried, her blue eyes wide in fear.

"H-Harry? Is that really you?" Justin whispered, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"It is," the young ghost said, floating casually about a foot in the air.

"Oh, Harry!" Hannah wailed suddenly and burst into tears. "How did it happen? Was it an accident? Or murder?" She buried her face in her hands.

Harry goggled at her. "Murder? Hannah, what on earth are you talking about?"

"She's talking about how you died," Justin clarified. He too was beginning to look teary-eyed.

"Died?" Harry repeated. "Hannah, don't cry. Please, it's not like you think. I'm not dead yet."

"But Harry, how can you be a ghost and not be dead?" objected Justin.

"I can explain, Jus," Harry began. He wanted to reach out and pat Hannah on the shoulder, but knew he would just go right through her.

"You had better be able to do so, Harry James Potter," came a silky voice from behind the children, sharp with disapproval.

Justin almost jumped out of his robe and Hannah gave a small squeak and backed up into the wall just beside the library's double doors.

"Uncle Sev!" Harry exclaimed, and would have run forward to hug him if he hadn't been incorporeal and his godfather hadn't pinned him with one of his famous scowls, that could make a Dementor run for cover.

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his wayward godson. "Well, young man? I'm waiting."

Before Harry could reply, Hannah looked over at Severus and asked cautiously, "You're Unspeakable Snape, right? Head of the Department of Mysteries?"

"I am." Severus turned and offered her a handkerchief.

"I read all about your trial over the summer," Hannah said shyly, taking the handkerchief and blotting her eyes. "I . . . I think you were marvelous, sir."

"Ahem!" Severus cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I did what I had to in order to save a child."

"You're Harry's godfather, right?" asked Justin. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley, and this is my Housemate, Hannah Abbot." He stuck out a hand.

Severus returned the handshake gravely. "Likewise. Harry has said you are two of his best friends here." Then he turned back to his errant ward. "Mr. Potter?"

Harry suddenly was glad he was a ghost, because Severus' tone could have frozen the blood in his veins. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, you see, sir, it's like this . . ." He told Severus and his friends about how Peeves had come upon him while he had been returning from the kitchens and had wished he could become mortal again, because he missed the sensations of the mortal world and was depressed. He told them about Peeves' life before he died and then how he had agreed to switch places with the poltergeist.

"You did what? You made a deal with a poltergeist without making him swear upon his magic?" demanded Severus, fighting to control his temper. How could the boy have been so foolish?

"It's only for twelve hours, Uncle Severus." Harry said, feeling suddenly uneasy.

"And you trust Peeves to honor his word? From what you told me about his life, he seems to be a scoundrel and a wastrel of the first water," Severus declared. "Not the kind to hold to any sort of promise without a magical compulsion."

"He's right, Harry. Peeves is kind of dodgy," Hannah said.

"And crazy," Justin added.

Harry opened his mouth to tell Justin that Peeves was probably saner than some students he could name, but Severus turned to the two Hufflepuffs and said, "Would you excuse us for a moment, Mr. Finch-Fletchley and Miss Abbott? I need to have a private word with my godson."

Both students quickly nodded and bid Harry goodbye, Hannah calling over her shoulder, "We'll see you later, Harry. But right now we're both starving."

Justin looked as if he wished to stay and hear what the Unspeakable had to say, but Hannah dragged him in her wake. "Not so hard, Abbott! All right, I'll come and eat breakfast."

"Good, 'cause I'm starving."

Once the two were out of earshot, Severus proceeded to give Harry the lecture of the decade. He did not raise his voice, but nevertheless his tone dripped with anger, disappointment, and a quick biting sarcasm that made Harry flinch.

"How could you make a bargain like that, Harry? Peeves, in life and death, never concerned himself with students unless there's something in it for him. Did it never occur to you to wonder why no one until now ever made that bargain with him?"

"I thought it was 'cause nobody cared." Harry said, somewhat defensively. "I know how that is, and I just wanted to make him feel better. I didn't think it would do any harm, Uncle Sev."

Severus shook his head. "Harry, someday that compassionate heart of yours is going to get you into trouble you can't get out of. If it hasn't already. Do you know what could happen if Peeves doesn't return after twelve hours? You could be stuck as a ghost forever, if midnight on Halloween comes and you are still incorporeal."

"But Peeves might keep his end of the bargain, sir."

Severus' mouth twisted. "I trust him not, Harry. Nor should you. You need to start thinking before you make deals with ghastly beings, Harry. This mistake could cost you dearly. I thought you had more sense than this after the way you acted over the summer. Now it would seem you left your sense back at Spinner's End."

Harry hung his head, his conscience stinging from the lash of Severus' tongue. "Sorry, Uncle Severus. How did you know to come here?"

"I had a vision," answered the Unspeakable gruffly. "It came to me this morning and I knew you were in danger. I came as quickly as I could. Merciful Merlin, boy, but you seem to have a knack for trouble like your father! Not to mention making me worry myself to a sliver."

Now Harry felt even guiltier. He owed Severus his life and admired the tall sorcerer the way he did no other wizard. He wanted to make the Unspeakable proud of him. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to. It won't happen again."

"Humph!" Severus snorted. "Don't make promises you can't keep. Do you know if Peeves is still in the castle?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think he is. He wanted to leave and walk outside." He looked up at Severus, who was still frowning, and for the first time, slivers of doubt crept into his mind. Suddenly, what had seemed like a simple request, a lark even, now became deadly serious. He swallowed hard. Fear skittered down his backbone and he wished that he could throw his arms about the tall wizard in the charcoal colored robes and hug him. "Uncle Sev? Do you really believe that Peeves would . . . that he won't return?"

Severus heaved a sigh. Harry's voice bore a quiver in it that hadn't been there before and the Unspeakable knew the boy was scared now. "Harry, I believe that Peeves does what's best for Peeves, and right now he's out there enjoying his freedom. But we'll have to wait and see, won't we?" He checked his watch, it was now past eight, almost nine.

"Yes, sir." The ghostly boy said mournfully, putting Severus in mind of a chastised puppy.

Severus relented a bit upon seeing the expression on Harry's face. He didn't enjoy scolding the child, even if he deserved it for being a reckless fool. "Why would you ever agree to such a request? Surely there must have been another reason besides feeling sorry for Peeves?"

"Well . . . I thought it would be fun . . . to be a ghost for a while." Harry admitted. "I could go all over the castle and everything. I talked to some of the other ghosts, and the Hunt Master let me ride a spectral mare, and be part of the Headless Hunt, I even pranked Malfoy by popping out of a mirror. . ." Harry trailed off, he hadn't meant to tell Severus that last part! He quickly went on. "I never thought Peeves might not come back, I just figured that he'd have to. I was stupid, huh?"

"You were very reckless and foolish," agreed the older wizard. "However, you live and learn, as my father would say. If Peeves has not returned at quarter to twelve, I shall begin searching for him. Until then, we shall give him the benefit of the doubt." The Unspeakable waved his wand, and a table and a chair sprang up. "At the moment, I need to eat breakfast. If I am to scry this wayward spirit later, I need to eat." He called for a house elf named Tipsy and ordered a sandwich of egg, bacon, and tomato on a hard roll, a side of crispy potatoes, and a cup of coffee.

Harry watched his godfather eat with something like envy, only now realizing what Peeves had felt. Even though he couldn't feel hunger or thirst, he could remember how food and drink tasted and smelled, and it made him long to be sitting next to his godfather, enjoying a meal. "Uncle Severus?"

Severus set down his fork. "What now, Harry?" he said irritably.

"Sorry, but I just wanted to know if . . . once I'm back to normal, if we could still go to Godric's Hollow? Or am I in trouble?" He thought regretfully of how he would now miss trick-or-treating with his friends.

Severus turned about so he was facing his godson. "Yes, we shall still go and visit your parents' graves. I would never punish you by denying you a visit. Furthermore, I would say that your own folly has punished you more than enough, and anything I could add would seem superfluous."

"Huh? Superfluous?"

"Too much," translated his guardian. Then he turned back to eating his breakfast.

Once he had done, he vanished the small table and chair, then said, "As long as I am waiting, I may as well do some research into how to capture a wayward spirit. Come along, Harry."

Snape entered the library, with Harry gliding along behind, making the back of Severus' neck tingle with a cold draft.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

While Severus read through several ancient texts, a bored Harry amused himself by floating through bookshelves and sticking his head out, or making the books float in and out. He even slipped into the Restricted Section for a few moments and tried to read a text about potions. But Severus caught him and ordered him out of there.

"Merlin's bones, boy, but you could become trapped inside a book if you trigger a ward!" he snapped. "Now use the brains God gave you and stay where I can see you and stop looking for trouble, or else!"

Harry muttered another apology and settled down on the carpet beside Severus' chair. It was past nine now and still there was no sign of Peeves. If Harry had a stomach, it would have been churning with anxiety.

Hannah and Justin returned to the library and Harry asked tentatively if he could go and talk with them. Severus agreed, waving him off, saying he was breaking his concentration.

The ghost boy flew off to a more secluded place in the library, where he regaled his friends about how he had pranked Malfoy and scared him witless, and also teased Filch as well. All of them had a good laugh at Malfoy's expense and though Hannah said he shouldn't tease the caretaker, harry could tell she found the image of Filch running down the corridor shaking his fist at nothing funny.

"What's it feel like to be a ghost?" she asked then.

"Sort of . . . cold and well, it's hard to describe because you don't really feel anymore . . . not the way you would with a body . . ." Harry struggled to explain. "You're kind of there and not there."

"How do you move things then?"

"Uh . . . I just think about it really hard and they move."

"Like a telekinetic!" Justin cried. "That's a person that can move things with their mind, like Jean Grey from the X-Men."

"Who's Jean Grey? Is she a witch?" Hannah asked, puzzled.

Justin shook his head. "No, she's a character in a comic book."

Before he could go off on a tangent about his favorite comic, Harry interrupted. "A comic book's like a story with pictures that Muggle kids read, Hannah. My cousin Dudley used to read them and so did I." Harry didn't tell them that he used to fish them out of the trash once Dudley had tired of them and threw them away. "Anyway, yeah it's kind of like that."

They chatted on for another hour or two, and then Hannah looked at the clock on the wall and whispered, "Harry, it's almost eleven thirty! And Peeves hasn't . . . come back yet. What are you going to do?"

"There's only one thing I can do, Hannah. Wait until quarter of and hope he returns."

"What if he doesn't?" Justin asked.

"Then my godfather will go look for him."

"Oh. I hope he can find him, the blighter," Justin frowned. "It's too bad you can't come trick-or-treating with us, Harry."

"I know. Wish I could. I've really messed things up."

"We could wait. Maybe Peeves will come back on his own," said Hannah hopefully.

"I doubt it. You were all right. I never should have trusted him." Harry said glumly. "Don't wait for me, Hannah. There's no telling how long it'll take Uncle Sev to find him and I don't want to ruin your Halloween too."

"But it wouldn't feel right, us going off and leaving you here."

Harry shrugged. "That's what I get for not thinking twice. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. You and Justin go out and enjoy yourselves."

"We'll get some extra sweets for you," Justin promised.

Harry watched as the two made their way out of the library, meeting up with Ernie MacMillan and Cedric in the Entrance Hall. Feeling sorry for himself, he soared back to where Severus was still browsing the books and whispered, "It's eleven thirty."

"I am aware of that, Harry." Severus continued to read.

But after five minutes of hearing his godson huffing and sighing and feeling a cold breeze tickle his ears, Severus set down his book and stood up. "You are as bad as a toddler whining for attention," he said shortly. He reached into a pocket of his robes and removed a silver scrying bowl, which he filled with pure water from his wand.

"I didn't know you could See in water, Uncle Severus. I thought you could only foretell in dreams."

"I can scry out a person's location in water, it's a remote viewing, which is not the same as a foretelling," Severus explained impatiently. "Now hush, I need to concentrate."

Severus lowered his head, gazing into the bowl.

The surface of the water began to ripple, then it glowed with a sudden burst of silvery light.

Harry threw up a hand and went backwards, for even though the light couldn't hurt his eyes as a ghost, his reaction was instinctive.

Severus, peering into the water, saw a rather ordinary looking youth with a sly face seated at a poker table, a glass of ale at his elbow, a rather buxom woman in a revealing red dress hanging onto his shoulder, gleefully raking in a pot of chips.

Typical, thought the Unspeakable, his lips curling. It didn't surprise him to find the mortal Peeves at a pub, gambling, drinking, and cozying up to a woman of ill repute. But where was he? He could be anywhere—Hogsmeade, York, anywhere . . .Severus concentrated. Show me where. Show me.

The water in the bowl swirled faster and faster. Until it settled and a picture came into focus of a pub sign. The Hound and the Falcon. Est. since 1857. There was a stylized picture of a foxhound running and above a falcon in flight, pursuing a rabbit. Beneath it were the words Finest lager in all of London.

Severus scowled at the image, which was wavering. London. So he was going to do a runner. Ha! He would have gotten away with it too, if not for my vision. He passed a hand over the bowl and the picture vanished.

"Well? Did you find him?"

Severus rubbed his eyes, the strain of remote viewing often made his sight a little blurry right afterwards. "Yes. He is in a pub in London, enjoying a hand of cards, among other things."

"London! But that's . . . miles and miles from here! What's he doing there?"

"Winning himself a fortune, it would seem. As well as reneging on your agreement." Severus quickly banished the water and tucked the scrying bowl away. "But now that I know where he is, I can fetch him back. I shouldn't be long. Stay here and read or take a nap."

"Uncle Sev, ghosts don't need sleep."

"Then contemplate dust dragons or something, but stay out of trouble until I return, clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do I have your word?" asked the sorcerer sternly.

"I promise, on my honor, I'll behave."

Severus nodded. Then he slipped like a shadow from the library, his dark gray cloak fluttering about him like the wings of an avenging angel. There was a reckoning to be paid, and Severus Snape, Unspeakable, was going to make sure it was paid in full.

The Hound and the Falcon

London, October 31st, 1991:

Peeves carefully raked in his winnings for the third time that afternoon, then turned and gave the girl on his lap a smacking kiss. "Ha! Didn't I tell you I had a good hand, sweetheart? See, you're my lucky charm, Myra."

The red-haired woman snuggled against him, her full lips inches from his ear, and purred, "A lucky charm? Darling, I'll be whatever you want me to be."

The two men playing with him looked at each other and swore. "Jack, if I didn't know better, I'd say that deck was fixed," one growled. He was brawny and had hair the color of a steel wool pad. "Three times 'e's cleaned our clocks, mate! It's bleeding unnatural!"

The other man, small and skinny with a large nose, shook his head in disgust. "Dan, I done tol' ya, we shoulda played dice instead. I said to meself, Jack, that stranger yonder looks like a real card shark. Now look at us. I don't even have money left for a pint!"

"Gentlemen, no hard feelings now," Peeves began, sensing he was about to lose his partners. "Tell you what. Play one more game with me. Double or nothing, winner take all. And the pints are on me." The former ghost's eyes were sparkling with the thrill of the game. Peeves loved to win, but he loved even more the element of risk. It was what made games of chance so addictive. A fortune could be won or lost on a single card.

The two considered. They had their reputations to maintain, and didn't want to be shown up by a newcomer, especially one so young, who looked as if he were fresh from university.

"Awright, lad, you're on." Jack agreed. He watched as Peeves pushed the stack of chips back into the center of the table, his nose twitching greedily. "C'mon, Dan, let's up the ante and thrash this young pup!"

Peeves concealed a grin. He could tell the siren call of cold hard cash had enthralled the two men, and they were going to be reckless and take chances they normally wouldn't. He rubbed his hands gleefully. These were the kind of stakes he loved. Easy marks, easy money. He shuffled the deck, then handed it to Jack to cut. Then he began to deal the cards.

Poker was a simple game, especially if you happened to have a phenomenal memory like Peeves. He had trained himself long ago, when he was a street waif, to count cards, and perform sleight of hand. The other advantage he had was that over the centuries he had become a master at poker, from playing endless hands night after night with the Bloody Baron, the Fat Friar, and Nearly Headless Nick.

He turned to Myra. "Myra, luv, would you mind going and fetching us three pints?" He reached into a pocket and handed her a fiver. "Get one for yourself too."

"Sure, handsome!" she slipped off his lap and headed to the bar. Peeves and the two men watched her swaying hips and bottom, grinning.

"You sure are lucky, boy," drawled Dan enviously. "Myra, she don't come cheap an' she don't go with just anybody."

Peeves said nothing, merely shrugged. He'd sampled what Myra could do before sitting down at the table, and found the experience to be quite invigorating, to say the least. Then again, it had been a long time since he'd been with a tavern wench.

Once Myra and the pints had arrived, they began to play in earnest.

Peeves allowed the two to win the first few hands, then he ruthlessly crushed them with his Full House, winning back what he had lost and then some.

He was just about to deal the final round when he felt Myra stiffen against his shoulder and murmur, "Jerome, you've got company. Something tells me it's not the welcome wagon either."

Peeves looked up to see a tall man in a long black duster with black jeans and a green jumper stalking over to his table. The man's hair was black as ink and in his eyes was a dark menacing look. Peeves gulped, for he knew who it was, even dressed in Muggle attire, you could not disguise the Head of the Unspeakables, Severus Snape.

Following the public custody trial of Harry Potter, Snape's face had been splashed all over the media of wizarding Britain, Scotland, and Ireland. Even the European and American branches knew who he was. Peeves recalled Snape from school. Back then he had been a skinny adolescent, all big eyes, long hair, and slender fingers, but frightfully intelligent. Now the gawky boy had become a wizard to be reckoned with and then some. Peeves felt the sharp spike of fear stab into his backbone.

Myra slipped unobtrusively from his lap, clearly not wanting to be in the line of fire. Peeves thought about running, but he knew he wouldn't get far, and he still had pride and daring enough to try and brazen it out. If Snape tried anything, he could call the police.

"Hello, Peeves. Long time no see, old friend," Severus hissed, his voice like an arctic wind.

"Uh . . . err . . . fancy meeting you here!" Peeves gave him a weak smile.

"Who's this, mate?" asked Jack.

"I thought you said your name was Jerome," Dan asked suspiciously.

"Peeves is a nickname," answered the other swiftly, his eyes still upon the glowering Unspeakable.

"Were you in a gang then? Is that wot this is about?" asked Jack, looking uneasy.

"He was in prison," Severus replied before the former poltergeist could respond.

"You did time?" Dan scowled. "What for?"

"Embezzlement," Severus supplied smoothly. "He was caught redhanded appropriating funds from the company account. Now it seems as if you're back to your old ways, right, Peeves?"

"I didn't do anything wrong!" objected the poltergeist. "You're lying!"

"Who are you, sir?" asked Dan warily. The other's attitude reminded him of an undercover cop, silent and deadly.

"His parole officer." Severus withdrew a wallet from his duster pocket and opened it, muttering something under his breath as he did so. He then showed the fake ID to the two Muggles.

"Oh. Nice meeting you, constable Snape. We'll . . . ah . . . be going now, right, Dan? Excuse us." Jack practically jumped out of his chair.

Dan too hastened to leave Peeves to his fate.

The poltergeist quickly raked up all the chips he'd won and glowered at Severus. "What do you want, Snape?"

Severus casually took a seat across from Peeves and said quietly, "For you to honor the bargain you made with my godson. Or is that beyond you, Peeves?"

"What bargain? I made no such bargain."

Severus was on his feet in a flash, his hands at Peeves' throat, lifting him half out of the chair. "Don't lie to me, Peeves! I know everything about last night. Now, did you or did you not promise my godson Harry Potter to exchange places with him for twelve hours?"

Peeves squirmed and gasped for breath. "I . . . ack! I . . . can't breathe, Snape . . ."

"Of course you can. It just hurts a lot," sneered the other, his obsidian eyes hard as stone. But he relaxed his grip, letting Peeves slide down into the chair again.

Peeves glanced around at the other patrons, but found no help there. Everyone else had either left or was pretending the two in the corner table didn't exist. Clearly word had spread about the former inmate and his parole officer. "All right. Yes, I did ask Potter if he would switch places with me, but I never promised to return after twelve hours. I said I might, not that I would."

Severus ground his teeth silently. He had suspected as much. A true oath was binding, and Peeves would have been compelled to return within the time allotted. Without a true oath, however, Peeves was free to interpret the bargain as he chose. "Why would you make such a bargain anyway? The afterlife wasn't lively enough for you?"

"Ha! If you'd been trapped for centuries inside a single castle, wouldn't you long for freedom? For the chance to go where you would, when you would? For another chance to taste the pleasures you mortals take for granted? Potter was a gullible fool, but I'm glad he agreed."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Peeves, you don't know how close you are to becoming a rotting corpse upon the floor," he hissed, leaning in close to the other. He made a few motions with his wand beneath the table, ensuring no curious ears could overhear their conversation. "I will tell you now, with a snap of my fingers I could curse you so badly your own mother, even if you knew who she was, would not recognize you. There is a spell I know that will rot you from the inside out, and you will die like a leper, your flesh liquefying and rotting, you bones crumbling and organs withering. It starts slowly, a spot here, a spot there, until it devours you, and you die in lingering agony. In the Department, it's known as the Withering Death, and there is no cure."

Then Severus moved, in a lightning quick gesture, his ebony wand at Peeve's throat. "All I need to do . . . is speak a single word."

Peeves swallowed hard. "You wouldn't. That's dark magic. It's forbidden."

"And what you did was not? Swapping your incorporeal self for a living breathing body? Planning to steal it and run as far away as possible, leaving a child stranded, dead before his time?"

"He agreed! Can I help it if he was too stupid to know how to make a contract?" mocked the poltergeist.

"It's not Harry's naivete you should be concerned about. I repeat, why would you wish to remain mortal? You have no family in this time, no friends, no background to fit into modern society. How could you expect to survive?"

"I'd manage. I did it before, when I lived on the streets."

"And is that the sort of life you aspire to? Thievery and graft?"

"It wouldn't always be so. It would certainly be better than the one I had previously."

"How so? You ended your life in a pub, and here it seems we have come full circle. Either way, you are coming with me and reversing whatever spell or incantation you cast. No one makes a pawn of my godson and gets off!"

Peeves shrank backwards and whimpered. "You can't make me come back! Potter and I had an agreement."

"Ah, so when it suits you, now it's an agreement?" demanded the Unspeakable sharply. "And you care not that you've taken advantage of a child's good heart and compassion, do you?"

Peeves' face twisted. "Why should I? No one ever gave a damn for me when I was his age! Nobody cared if Jerome starved and begged for a bread crust in the street or offered a blanket to keep out the cold! Salazar only saved me because I had magic, otherwise he would have left me to the elements. Even then I never belonged, I was mocked for my accent and my poor clothing, or pitied as the poor waif Slytherin took in out of charity!"

"If you hated your life so much the first time, why consent to becoming a mortal again?"

"Because this time it would be different."

"Would it? From where I'm sitting, you're still the beggar brat, playing with stolen coin and a stolen body. A pathetic excuse for a person, a groveling cowardly child who pretends he's a man so he won't have to face the truth. That you cheated an innocent child out of his life because you didn't have the guts or the honor to keep your word." Severus said calculatedly, knowing how to twist the knife into the other's psyche, knowing intuitively where Peeves was most vulnerable. It was part of his talent as a Seer, this inner knowing of another, and normally he would have never used the knowledge to hurt. But this time he had no mercy, for Harry's very life was at stake and he would use whatever he had to in order to force Peeves' hand.

Peeves trembled as the barbed words struck home. His face reddened. "How dare you?" he spat, his eyes wild. "I'm no coward, Snape!"

"Prove it then. Return and honor your word."

"And give up my freedom? Not a chance."

"What if I told you that I could free you as a ghost?"

"You're lying, Snape. The only freedom for me would be to pass the Veil. And I know what awaits me in the afterlife." His face twisted in bitter mockery. "Eternal damnation. Are you that eager to see me burn? Like the black friars were to burn all the witches and heretics? No thanks!"

"You may not be the nicest person, Peeves, but I doubt you are going to hell. There are many others more deserving who would be chosen first," Severus said dryly. "Purgatory, maybe."

"I'm in there right now, as a ghost in the castle."

"Because the wards bind you. But what if there was a way to relax the wards, and allow you to travel past the castle proper? To the Shrieking Shack and Hogsmeade?"

"The wards have been in place for a thousand years. There's no unbinding them, even if you were Headmaster, Snape."

"You're wrong. What magic has made, magic can unmake. That is a truth all Unspeakables know."

"Never happen. It's a trick."

Severus met his gaze. "On my wand, it is not."

Peeves set his jaw. "I like London. The rubes here are easy pickings. I could live comfortably here for quite some time."

"Eventually, your money would run out and then what?"

The other shrugged lazily. "I'd move on. What's it to you?"

Abruptly, Severus changed tactics. Intimidation and persuasion had not got him anywhere. Perhaps appealing to the ghost's love of chance would. His temper was still simmering, but under control. In life, Peeves had been a sly conniving scamp, but Severus was Slytherin, and had dealt with that sort of Housemate for years. "How about a small wager, Peeves? Five card draw poker. Ten hands. Ten pound limit. If I win, you return with me and become a poltergeist again, and I remove the wards that constrain you to the castle. You keep your promise to Harry and all debts are cancelled. If you win, you are free to remain a mortal, but if our paths ever cross again, I will duel you without mercy in payment of your broken promise."

"What's in it for me?"

"Your life—mortal or immortal. Are you willing to risk it all? Or do you only play when the odds are in your favor?"

"What are you saying? That I'm a cheat? I won all those games fair and square today! Without even batting an eye. I can beat you blindfolded, Snape. The cards love me."

"And you love the sound of your own voice," said Severus sarcastically. "Swear upon your magic that you will not attempt to cheat, either with or without magic."

Peeves swore. His blood was up and all he wanted was to wipe the smug challenging look off of Snape's face. "All right. I agree to your terms. Not that it matters, because I'm going to win. I haven't been beaten in a hand of poker since I died."

"Never say never, Peeves." Severus answered, then he shuffled the cards expertly. "Cut them."

Peeves cut the deck, then handed it back. Severus dealt, his fingers working smoothly over the plastic cards, like the seasoned expert he was. Little did Peeves know that Tobias and Severus had been playing poker since Severus was ten, and Tobias had once been a gambler par excellance.

The first hand lasted about seven minutes, with Peeves upping the ante until Severus called, and then it was revealed that the former poltergeist had a Full House, a pair of tens and three eights, which beat Severus' hand.

Peeves grinned triumphantly and took the pot. Then they began to play again.

This time Severus' straight beat Peeves' three of a kind, and Peeves scowled mightily. Severus was stoic, his face still, not giving anything away. Three more hands passed, with Peeves winning two and Severus one.

"Better quit while you're ahead, Snape." He gloated.

"It's not over until the last hand," reminded the Unspeakable. Unknown to Peeves, Severus had been testing his opponent those first few hands. But now having got the measure of the ghost—he was very very good—he began to play in earnest.

Back and forth the ante went, and Severus bluffed Peeves into folding, much to the ghost's chagrin.

"Damn your hide, Snape!"

The next hand, Peeves casually said, "I see your five and raise you ten." He tossed a ten pound note into the pot.

Severus calmly met the bet, then drew a card.

Peeves squinted, trying to recall what cards the other could have held. He hated to admit it, but Severus had a poker face second to none, and he was at the top of his game. There had only been one wizard who had been a better player, and that was Salazar Slytherin. Ironic, that Snape was a member of that House.

He nibbled at a fingernail. He had a pretty good spread, nearly a straight, but Snape seemed confident. Too confident. He raised and then called Snape's bluff.

"Let's see what you've got, Snape."

Severus flipped over his hole card and it was revealed as a seven of spades.

"Bloody hell!" Peeves cried for Severus' four of a kind beat his Full House.

Severus calmly took the pot, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Last hand, Peeves."

"You're going down, Snape," threatened the other. He shuffled the deck, cut it, and dealt, his brain working overtime trying to count the cards as he dealt. He was determined not to lose. Lady Luck, don't fail me now.

Severus remained maddeningly calm, like a stone effigy, only his eyes flicking back and forth across the table. But within his thoughts were busy calculating if Peeves had a hand to beat. His own hand was very good. The tension was so thick between the two that the air went frigid.

Severus turned a hole card over. It was a ten of spades. Arrayed before it was a queen of spades, a jack of spades, a two of hearts and king of spades.

Peeves grinned. "Just wait till you see what I've got, Snapey dear." He cooed. He put down a king, queen, jack, ten, and nine of hearts. Straight flush. "Read 'em and weep. I'm free!"

"Just a moment. I have one more card to draw." Severus murmured. He drew a card. The only way he could lose was if the card were not of the same suit, since his straight was of a higher value than Peeves. He discarded the two of hearts.

He flipped over the card.

It was an ace of spades.

Royal flush, the unbeatable hand.

Peeves' eyes bugged out. "No. This isn't happening. I never lose. Never."

"The cards don't lie." Severus said simply. He calmly took his winnings and dumped them into a pouch, then eyed Peeves sternly. "Well? Shall you come quietly, or must I gag you, bind you, and carry you over my shoulder?"

The defeated ghost thought about making a break for it. He might be able to outrun the other wizard and escape into the maze of streets in London. He considered it for about ten seconds. He found his pride would not let him. He had lost, and he had agreed to the wager. He lifted his gaze and met the other's eyes. "You win, Snape. I'll come back."

Severus took him firmly by the shoulder, letting out a relieved breath as he did so. He had never played a game of poker for such high stakes before and he knew he never would again. He was very glad, however, that Fortuna had smiled on him this afternoon.

Once out of the pub and down a dank alley, Severus Apparated away with Peeves.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Harry was about to go through the wall, literally. It was now after twelve noon and his friends had departed to go trick-or-treating. He was alone in the library, frustrated and upset. What if Severus could not find Peeves? What if the former ghost had vanished into the mass of humanity that dwelled in Muggle London? Even if Severus did find Peeves, how would he make the sly poltergeist agree to return with him? Harry respected Severus and knew he was an intelligent and powerful wizard, but could he manage to corral one thousand year old ghost determined to avoid pursuit?

He was mentally kicking his own arse when he heard footsteps approaching the library. He floated up towards the ceiling and waited with bated breath.

The door opened and Severus appeared, one hand fastened securely upon a slender wrist of a young man with floppy brown hair.

"Oww! You needn't grip so hard!" yelped Peeves. "Kid, where are you? I'm ba-a-ck!" he cackled, elongating the word and making it sound creepy.

"Here I am, Peeves." Harry said, and floated over to him. He gave the former ghost a sharp glare. "Nice try." He flashed Severus a smile. "I knew you'd find him, if anyone could, Uncle Sev."

"Ugh! Don't make me vomit," Peeves coughed. "All right. Give me your hand, Potter."

Harry extended his hand, willing himself to grasp Peeves'.

He felt an odd tingle running through him, sort of like electricity, then he was yanked forward and he found himself melting into Peeves' body.

There was a brilliant flash and Harry found himself sitting down on the floor, a boy once more, while Peeves hovered above him.

"Are you all right?" Severus asked, concerned.

"Uh . . .yeah. I'm just a little . . . dizzy." Harry said, trying to get to his feet.

A lean arm helped him stand, and Harry leaned gratefully against his godfather's shoulder.

Peeves made an insulting face. "Kid's fine, Snape, quit mollycoddling him. Do what you said."

"In a moment." Severus said, then lowered his head, and made a few passes with his wand over the poltergeist. He spoke one long phrase in Latin three times and then green sparks exploded out of his wand and drifted over Peeves.

"It's done."

Peeves let out a shriek that could have stripped paint.

"I'm free at last! Thank Merlin, I'm free!"

Both Severus and Harry flinched and covered their ears.

Peeves through the library wall, cackling. Several books tumbled off the shelves as he passed.

Harry bent to pick them up. "What did you do, Uncle Sev?"

"I kept a bargain I made with him and allowed him to go outside of the castle, as far as Hogsmeade."

"Oh. That was clever of you." Harry smiled at his godfather then came over to hug him.

But before he could embrace the tall wizard, Severus' hands fastened upon Harry's shoulders and shook him twice. "Harry James Potter, if you ever do something so foolish again, I will take away your broom and ground you until you're twenty. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir," Harry whispered, looking at Severus' boots. Had he lost his godfather's trust forever with his dumb decision? He bit his lip hard, struggling against tears.

An instant later he found himself drawn up against Severus' robes, inhaling the spicy and exotic scent that clung to the other's clothing from brewing potions. The hand that had shook him in displeasure was now carding his hair. Harry knew then he was forgiven. He threw his arms about Severus and clung.

They remained that way for several moments.

Then Severus handed Harry a handkerchief and said, "Dry your eyes and blow your nose. Now then, are you ready to go pay your respects?"

"Yes, Uncle Sev." Harry said, his words muffle slightly by the handkerchief.

They arrived at Godric's Hollow close to one o'clock in the afternoon, and Harry hurried down the path to where the twin headstones bearing the names of Lily and James Potter rested. He knelt in front of them and whispered, "Hey, Mum and Dad. It's me, Harry. I just came to say hello. It's Halloween again and I just wanted to stop and tell you how much I miss you and well . . . you know . . ."

He reached out and placed his hands upon the headstones, wishing then that he were still a ghost, then perhaps he might be able to talk to them.

A wind came up suddenly, blowing the leaves about the headstones and making the trees wave. Harry shivered and shut his eyes. It was then that he felt it, the sensation of warm hands hugging him, and heard their voices whisper in his ear.

"We love you, Harry. Always remember that. Happy Halloween, son."

Harry gasped and his eyes flew open. But when he glanced around, he could see nothing, not even a shadow. Had they really been there at all? Or had it been his imagination?

He turned, hearing Severus' soft tread upon the ground. The Unspeakable carried a bouquet of lilies, snapdragons, and mums in his hand. Harry rose, about to call out to his godfather, but the words died on his tongue.

For there, shimmering in the wispy fog and weak October sunlight, stood Lily and James Potter. Harry recognized them from the pictures Severus had shown him.

Severus had halted, his eyes bright with disbelief. He spoke one word. "Lily."

She stepped forward, whispered something that Harry almost could not make out. It sounded like "I forgive you." or maybe "I love you." Her ghostly arms went round the still form of the Unspeakable for a brief instant. Then she withdrew and waved goodbye, fading away.

James drew near then, and spoke quietly for a few moments.

Harry could only catch a few words. " . . .sorry for what I did . . . thank you for looking after Harry . . . Lily was right . . ."

"He is my godson and I did what was right," Severus replied shortly.

James nodded once, then he too vanished into the mist.

Severus shut his eyes, his face a myriad of emotions—astonishment, longing, sorrow, and love. Silent tears trickled down his cheeks.

Harry stared, he had never seen Severus Snape weep. It made tears come to his own eyes. He ran to Severus. "Uncle Sev!" he cried, his voice catching. "They came to me too."

Severus opened his eyes then, his hands coming up to swipe across his face. "I thought they might." He pressed the small eleven-year-old against him. "It is, after all, Halloween, and doors between the living and the dead are open for this day and night only." He drew in a breath, let it out. "I thought they might come to you, but never to me."

"But they did. I saw."

"Yes."

"What did they say?"

Severus looked down at the green-eyed boy, amusement flickering in his eyes. "That, Harry, is private. I will tell you someday . . .when I have recovered from the shock. Come, it's growing late. If you hurry, you might still be able to find your friends and go trick-or-treating with them."

"Really?" Harry said eagerly. Then his face fell. "But Uncle Sev, I . . . don't have a costume."

"What would you like to be?"

"Uh . . . I could always be . . . a ghost." Harry said, smirking.

Severus scowled fiercely. "That is not funny, young man."

"Only kidding. Make me a sea serpent."

Severus tapped him with his wand, and Transfigured Harry's school robes into a glittering serpent costume. Harry had a flexible tail that curled up over his back and a head with glittering emerald eyes that he pulled over his face like a hood. His arms were the front flippers, his legs the back ones.

He twirled about, almost falling over. "Awesome! You're the best, Uncle Sev!"

"Stand still, for Merlin's sake! I can't take you along if you're spinning about like a top." Severus scolded mildly, reaching out and pulling the sea serpent to him.

There was flash of green light and they were gone, leaving the cemetery to the spirits of the dead.

Severus stood at the entrance to Hogsmeade, watching as a silvery blue sea serpent ran down the main street, calling for Hannah and Justin, a black leather satchel clutched in his hand. The Unspeakable permitted himself a quiet smile and observed the serpent meeting up with a knight and a fairy. This had been one Halloween he would never forget, though unlike that other one, this one had not ended in tragedy.

The sea serpent turned and waved.

Severus lifted his hand, whispering, "Happy Halloween, Harry," as the serpent and his friends scurried off. Then he went down the street into The Three Broomsticks. After the day he had had, he badly needed a drink of mulled wine.

He had just settled down in a booth in the corner when he heard a familiar voice say, "Hey, Snapey! How about another hand of cards?"

Severus took a gulp of wine and groaned. "Go away, Peeves."

"Aww, but Sna-a-a-pe!" whined the poltergeist. "Just one more? Please? My reputation's in tatters here, old boy."

"Go and haunt someone else," the other snarled warningly.

"You're no fun." Peeves pouted.

"Out. Now. Before I revoke the binding."

"Meanie!" Peeves stuck out his tongue behind Severus' back.

"I saw that," Severus said.

"All right, I'm going! Sheesh!"

There was a pop and Peeves vanished.

Severus gave silent thanks and went to pick up his goblet of wine.

Peeves's face suddenly appeared out of the goblet and gave the startled wizard a smacking kiss on the lips.

"Gotcha!" he howled, before disappearing.

Several of the patrons started laughing.

Severus scowled and glared at them. "I never should have let him out of the castle, the bloody nuisance!" Then he took a long drink of wine to wash away the slightly slimy feeling.