Alice waited calmly for Myrtle's decision. She knew her sudden shift in attitude had to be throwing the ghost for a loop.
And yeah, it was. Myrtle was torn—heartbroken over being tricked, but also turning Alice's words over in her head.
Become a free ghost?
"How am I supposed to trust you?" Myrtle finally blurted. "You're just a first-year witch…"
She didn't finish. Her jaw dropped as Alice's body stayed rooted in place—then a silvery-white ghost floated right out of it.
It was Alice's face, grinning at her from midair.
"You—you—you… I—I—I… Are you a ghost or a witch?!"
"Actually," Alice said, totally chill, "what the heck are you?"
Alice's tone stayed even. "I'm both a ghost and a witch. So, can you trust me to help you now?"
Myrtle nodded, stunned. She'd never seen anything like this. Okay, maybe it was worth a shot.
Alice didn't waste time. "Cool. Relax your mind. Watch me work."
She had Myrtle stand in front of her. The Myriad Soul Banner materialized—visible only to Alice—unfurling from her wrist like a dark ribbon. It grew, spreading until it wrapped around Myrtle like a shroud.
Myrtle had no clue. She was still staring at Alice, trying to figure out what kind of creature she even was.
The banner glowed with a dim, eerie light only Alice could see. Galler Nicholas's tattered soul emerged, dancing around them in wild, joyful spins.
It wasn't part of the ritual—Alice had picked up the moves from Galler's old notes. The dance calmed souls, made the process smoother.
As Galler's steps flowed, Alice felt a quiet settle in her chest. Even the knot of dread about Voldemort maybe still being alive loosened a little.
She glanced at Myrtle—eyes closed, face peaceful—and asked, "Myrtle, you feeling it?"
Myrtle's voice was soft, dreamy. "I feel… calm. Like I could take a nap."
Alice smiled. "Go ahead. Sleep. When the sun comes up, you'll forget the worst of it."
Myrtle nodded and slumped forward. Alice caught her, gently laying her on the one clean patch of bathroom floor.
Ghosts don't get dirty, but Alice was raised right.
As she settled Myrtle down, the ghost suddenly grabbed her arm tight. A whisper: "Alice… will it hurt?"
Alice leaned in. "Myrtle, be brave just this once. The world only opens up when you are—dead or alive."
Myrtle let go.
Galler's remnant kept dancing. He was just a fragment now—his real mind poured into those manuscripts years ago. The man who lived another twenty years after that? Half a person. That's why he did all those awful experiments. Realizing he was broken sped up his end.
Alice sat beside Myrtle, watching Galler move under the banner's glow and the flickering yellow candlelight.
Slowly, the banner peeled away from Myrtle. Alice knew it was done.
She'd claimed her second soul.
Myrtle's emotions flooded in, and Alice went quiet.
Fear—she was terrified Alice had trapped her in endless hell.
Rage and regret—at Voldemort's basilisk that killed her, at dying at fourteen, at nicknames like "Four-Eyed Toad" and "Four-Eyed Dog," at lonely, panicked nuits in the dorms… until the day she looked straight into those eyes.
Through Myrtle's memory, Alice saw them: bright yellow, vertical slits, pure menace.
That was the last thing Myrtle ever saw.
Alice's biggest question: If I meet that thing, how do I not die?
Did Dumbledore know about the basilisk? About Tom Riddle? If he did, had he killed it?
Or… did he have no idea where it was? If so, it was still slithering around the castle, a threat to every kid here.
Dumbledore's face flashed in her mind—those piercing eyes that saw way too much.
Honestly? They scared her more than the snake's.
Alice glanced at Myrtle, still sprawled on the floor, and let out a soft laugh as she stood to leave.
Why stress? Just keep getting stronger. Cross that bridge when you get to it.
The banner's feedback proved she was on the right path.
Maybe because it was her first ghost soul, the banner was buzzing—literally hot to the touch.
It'd take a full day before it revealed what changed.
She pushed open the bathroom door. The Bloody Baron was still on guard, making sure no patrolling professor, Filch, or Peeves disturbed them.
Protection detail.
He straightened as she emerged. "Done?"
"Done," Alice said. "Myrtle'll still cry, but it won't hit like a tidal wave anymore."
The Baron nodded, satisfied. He hadn't expected her to stop the tears—that was impossible. Just… less contagious? He'd take it.
But still—
"How'd you pull it off? None of us ghosts ever could."
Alice grinned. "Guess I'm the bathroom life coach now."
…
The Baron blinked. What kind of title is that?
He didn't ask. Just led her out in silence.
…
Eighth floor, Headmaster's office
Albus Dumbledore, mid-letter from a pen pal in Brazil, reached out and snagged a ghostly chain trying to slip out of Hogwarts.
He glared at it, annoyed, then flicked it back.
It shot through walls and wrapped tight around Peeves's ankle.
Peeves isn't leaving anyway, Dumbledore thought, satisfied.
The slightly older phoenix on its perch glanced at the smiling headmaster, then closed its eyes again.
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