Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and its habitants belong to JK Rowling. I'm nothing more than a creative fan.
A/T: Hey there!
First of all, thank you for reading my fanfic! Second, feel more than welcome to comment on it and tell me what you thought. I would love to have constructive criticism, anything that will help me create a better, more real story for you guys to enjoy.
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The Reason Why
He glided through the dungeons quietly. It was still dark outside, but slowly the castle was coming back to life. The students would soon be getting up, he could already hear the muffled sounds coming out from the dormitories. The corridors would be filled with cheerful boys and girls and their loud chit-chat. And he, once again, would have to endure another day of his dull existence.
Why hadn't he let go, he didn't understand, or rather he now didn't understand. He still remembered that day, the day, when he had made the foolish decision to stay behind, to remain bonded to this world, dooming himself to stroll Hogwarts' corridors hoping something, or someone, would release him of his imprisonment.
Those had been dark years, back in the day clan wars were common trade and not even the Wizarding Community or Hogwarts castle was safe.
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It had started off as a grim, frosty day, the grey clouds had covered the horizon, announcing snow. As the first flakes started to fall he reached out for his wand. "Pirum", he mumbled quietly, the simple spell would be enough to protect him from the foul weather.
The invading forces were about to attack. The Baron and his army had been waiting for them for weeks. He had been chosen to command the castle's army, due to his renowned ability as strategist. This would be the last stand, if the invaders won, then Hogwarts would be lost. Yet if the castle won, the war would be over, the enemy forces were as weak and worn out as his own and they would not stand much longer.
The clan wars had lashed the region for almost a century. It had ceased to be a muggle affair long ago, and had easily spread to the Wizarding Community. The once close Wizarding families had declared war to each other and Hogwarts had found itself in the middle, holding the offspring of most of these families.
The school had played as mediator between the angry clans and had tried to solve their grudges, finally arriving to some sort of consensus, except for one family that was still offering resistance. The Cromwell clan didn't count with many allies, but it was still the most powerful Wizarding clan in Scotland. Hogwarts was the last bastion standing against them, holding together the rest of the community.
They were stationed some miles away from the Village of Hogsmeade to secure the villagers' safety. Some fellow clans had assured them their support, their only chance of success depended on said back ups. They were to surround the hostile forces and annihilate them once and for all.
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A student ran through him, interrupting his reminiscence. Those insolent dunces, had they not learnt yet that they were not to bother him? One of his cold glances was enough for the fearful first year to turn the opposite direction and ran away as fast as he could. Weak creatures, he sneered to himself, always so fearful and faint, if it were in his power he would get rid of them all.
By that time the Baron had already reached the Great Hall, the chatter was unbearable. Back in his days students were wise enough to keep their mouths shut in front of their superiors. But modern headmasters' weak grips could accomplish nothing of the sort.
He directed himself to his usual spot in the Slytherin table. There was really no reason for him to be there, he could neither enjoy nor share the meal. Yet those meals were usually the only moment he had to see her.
She was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, deep in conversation with a seventh year girl. Judging on both their expressions they were probably debating what seemed to be a highly interesting and complex matter.
When he had arrived to Hogwarts he had been nothing other than a foreign lord, fallen from grace, with nothing to precede him but his fame as fierce knight and cunning strategist. He had been brought to Hogwarts to replace the former Knight Lore teacher, which was now known as Defense Against the Dark Arts, while she had already been teaching Arithmancy there for several years. The moment he had set eyes on her he had known he could not rest until she had agreed to be his.
Yet she had refused him repeatedly for years. She wouldn't realize that he, unlike the others, was indeed worth of her. He did appreciate her knowledge. He did appreciate her intelligence and uniqueness. He did not only appreciate said attributes but he would also honor them as they should be honored.
He often wondered what would have been of him, had he been less concerned about her that fateful day several centuries ago.
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The scouts had rushed in camp earlier that day to announce that the enemy was not too far away and they would probably be arriving during the evening. He had gathered his Captains to revise their plan of action one last time.
Yet his mind was elsewhere that day. An owl had arrived the previous night and it had not delivered him the news he expected. Lady Yseulte had again, and seemingly for the last time, refused to accept marrying him. She had decided she was to stay single and devote her life to the school, to her teachings and to Ravenclaw House.
He could feel the blood rise to his head at the mere thought of such statement. He would not give up, he would not give her up. He had promised himself she would, one day, be hers and Baron Aldrick Diedrich Haydn Von Slyke was not one to give up what he wanted.
The lunch was frugal, no one was in the mood to eat, they had waited for too long and the men were eager for the confrontation to come to a conclusion. Baron Von Slyke didn't even bother with it, instead he directed himself to his tent, searching for some peace to clear off his mind before the battle, or so he said.
Once inside the safety of his tent he rushed to his chest. After kneeling beside it he shuffled through his belongings for a moment until he found what he had been looking for, a small dark mahogany box. Standing up he sat down on a rather rudimentary chair, for once not minding how uncomfortable it was.
He held the box in his hand, the emblem of a snake coiled around an S was carved on the top. He opened it carefully, the interiors were covered in green velvet, and inside rested a silver bracelet, it hung a tiny silver medal carrying an ornate serptentine S. He took the bracelet and left the box aside.
The bracelet, an old family heirloom, was said to have once belonged to Salazar Slytherin. The myth said it had been charmed by Slytherin himself to bind anyone who owned it to him and, ultimately, his descendants.
Yes, it was it was certainly the only way, since she refused to have him she would make her do so. Only this way she would understand that she was made to be with him. His eyes sparkled with madness. He was not to be blamed for the outcome, she had forced this upon her, she had left him no choice. He was doing this for her best interests.
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The Bloody Baron frowned, he could see the ghostly bracelet hanging from her wrist. She had had worn it from the day of his death onwards, on to her own death and her afterlife. If the bracelet did in fact have powers it was beyond his knowledge, he hadn't lived enough to find out.
But he could still clearly remembered the exact words he had written in his letter to her, that icy afternoon when, alone in his tent, he had developed his final plan to gain her over for himself. The epistle was very brief, he acknowledged his defeat and, conscious of the faith that the upcoming battle might hold for him, he was unwilling to let her go without, first, giving her something to remember him by.
He had watched his owl fly away with both the bracelet and the letter certain that, were him to come back to the castle, she'd be his.
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At sunset they could hear the enemy forces coming. They were ready, they were placed on top of a small hill, facing the valley beneath them, Cromwell's forces would come from behind the opposite hill. The snow had covered the field and a cloud of steam rose from the mass of men giving the scene an eerie and almost unreal feeling. It was going to be a tough battle, the men were weak, exhausted and low in spirits, but the Baron trusted that the opposing army was in a similar position.
But what worried the Baron the most wasn't the army's men, but the army's petsThe invading forces had a pack of Konmhacs with them. These fierce creatures looked much like regular wolves, yet they couldn't be far more distant from them. Konmhacs were twice the size of common wolves and, unlike them, their bite was fatal. Their fangs were covered with poison and its effect was so fast that it left no time to supply an antidote. Konmhacs were well known for their ferocity and, despite the numerous attempts, no wizard had ever been able to tame a single one of them.
How the Cromwells had managed to tame so many was beyond the Baron's understanding, all he knew was that if he managed to neutralize them, the battle would turn to his favor. For said purposes he had supplied his entire army with antidotes beforehand, special antidotes, a recent innovation developed by Hogwarts' own Potions Master, this particular beverage was to be drunk beforehand and would be effective for several hours.
They waited, standing, for what seemed ages, although it shouldn't have been more than a few minutes, and then they saw them. Baron Von Slyke had to make an effort not to gasp. Even though he had known about the Konmhacs for months seeing them march along side the enemy was indeed impressive.
The Baron took a deep breath. The enemy forces were already on their place, there was no point in postponing the inevitable. He commended himself to the Gods and, along with a war howl threw himself and his men into battle.
The antidotes were effective. The bites still did a lot of harm, but they were usually not fatal. The hostile forces were appalled, ridden of their main weapon they were nothing but a weak, tired army. By the time the moon raised above their heads the scales had evidently turned to Hogwarts' side. The Baron smiled to himself as he slashed an opposing soldier in two, he already knew they were going to win the battle.
And then it happened. Out of nowhere a Konmhac jumped out of the crowd and stung its claws on his chest, throwing him to the floor, defeated by the animal's weight. He tried to stab the animal's wound with his sword, but before he could even move his arm to the side the animal's fangs pierced his shoulder.
The pain was unbearable, losing grip of the sword he almost let it fall. He had to make one last effort, if he could get the beast off him he would be safe, the antidote would do the rest.
But this didn't feel like a normal wound, he could feel the pain spread from his shoulder to the rest of his arm and to his chest. The intense pain was closely followed by a feeling of numbness. It couldn't be, he had taken the antidote, he had…
Then he realized. Worried as he had been to get Lady Yseulte back he had forgotten to drink the antidote. When the squire had run into his tent to warn him that the enemy was at the gate he had run out without a second thought, leaving the vessel resting on his desk, where it had laid all the past weeks waiting for the imminent attack.
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If it had been possible for the Bloody Baron to be livid he would have been. The memories of that day haunted him day and night, and there she was to remind him of his errors.
That night, in the battlefield, covered in mud and in his own blood, he had been offered the chance to move on and leave this life. But he had refused to do so. He had failed, he had made a foolish mistake, so unlike of him. He would not fail to have her, he would remain and wait for her, he would haunt her if it was necessary, but he had to succeed, he was not going to taste failure again.
And so he had gone back to Hogwarts castle, he had gone back for her. He had been there when she got his owl, when she had read her letter, and had put on his bracelet. He had also been there when the news of his death had reached the castle, she hadn't shared a tear, but he had told himself that would change.
She outlived him for many years. She kept her word and devoted all her years to Hogwarts and rebuilding the school after the clan wars were over. Her hair turned grey, but she never lost her beauty and uniqueness. He visited her often, but she never seemed to acknowledge his presence, one day she simply told him not to bother her anymore, that she was never to be his, or anyone's, and that his presence was 'rather disturbing'.
He had cursed, he had shouted, he had thrown a tantrum. He had taken it back on the rest of the castle, managing to make everyone else's life hell, to the point that even Peeves the Poltergeist feared him. But he could not harm her, and she refused to response to, what she called, his 'childish behavior'.
Finally Lady Yseulte met her end as well. After a long life her body was ready to give in, and so, one day without previous notice, she didn't wake up anymore. He thought he had lost her forever, he had rushed to her chambers unwilling to believe it. But, to his surprise, there she was, not the young, fresh woman he had once known, but a silvery image of her, gliding next to her own body.
One last time he had thought she would finally be his, apparently the bracelet had worked its magic in the end, she was bind to the castle much like he was. But she hadn't even directed him a word. Turning her back on him she had slid through the wall and left him alone, standing by her bed. After that day he closed on himself, never to utter a word again. He had lost his fight against her.
The Bloody Baron punched the table, but his fist went right through the wood. Frustrated and angry he directed one last glance at the ghost sitting right in front of him, in the Ravenclaw table and then made his way out of the Great Hall.
Yes, Lady Yseulte Merwenna MacLean de Grenefeld, the Gray Lady, had been the reason why he had stayed behind. He had thought he could one day win her heart. Too late had he realized his mistake. For once in his life he had met a will stronger than his own, and for his failure and foolishness he cursed himself.