Post by BLUDWORTH BATHORY on Jan 9, 2024 16:57:26 GMT -5
The Christmas season had settled gloriously over the medieval décor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. What had started as thin sheets of snow over the endless lawns had accumulated to thick blankets. The air outside was icy and wet – though not quite as frigid as the spectral anatomy of one Bludworth Bathory.
Said ghost was now maliciously hovering through the shadows of the dungeon after a second-year Slytherin girl, who he had spied mocking a Muggle-born Hufflepuff in the courtyard days prior. Naturally, this meant that the close-minded student would be on Bludworth's hit-list. Any student or teacher who had been at Hogwarts for at least three years would've known of the ghost's reputation for haunting those with supremacist convictions; after centuries, it had nearly become instinctual for him.
“Yer time has come, lass!” he wailed with pure-white eyes while he waved his cutlass. “No purist escapes the wrath o' Bludworth Bathory!”
He could cause no harm to her beyond causing her body temperature to lower by passing through her...but she didn't know that.
Yet somehow, even in her position of fleeing like an elk from a ravenous bear, she still managed to spew out prejudice insults. “LEAVE ME ALONE, Y-YOU DEAD MUDBLOOD!”
If Bludworth wasn't already thirsty for her fear, that comment would've cranked his malevolence to full gear. “I'LL RUN YE THROUGH, YE SCURVY WENCH!”
She wouldn't be going home for Christmas without the memory of Bludworth's haunting her. But before she could reach the exit of the dungeons, she would collide with a tall, male figure. She grabbed onto him like a lifesaver.
“PROFESSOR BURKE! HELP ME, PLEASE!” she squealed (pathetically, Bludworth would've added).
At that, Bludworth knew the fun was over. He ceased his frightening flight and sheathed his cutlass.
“Preston Burke,” Bludworth acknowledged as he eyes returned to normal. “Jus' in time to save a wee pureblood's neck, I see.”
Said ghost was now maliciously hovering through the shadows of the dungeon after a second-year Slytherin girl, who he had spied mocking a Muggle-born Hufflepuff in the courtyard days prior. Naturally, this meant that the close-minded student would be on Bludworth's hit-list. Any student or teacher who had been at Hogwarts for at least three years would've known of the ghost's reputation for haunting those with supremacist convictions; after centuries, it had nearly become instinctual for him.
“Yer time has come, lass!” he wailed with pure-white eyes while he waved his cutlass. “No purist escapes the wrath o' Bludworth Bathory!”
He could cause no harm to her beyond causing her body temperature to lower by passing through her...but she didn't know that.
Yet somehow, even in her position of fleeing like an elk from a ravenous bear, she still managed to spew out prejudice insults. “LEAVE ME ALONE, Y-YOU DEAD MUDBLOOD!”
If Bludworth wasn't already thirsty for her fear, that comment would've cranked his malevolence to full gear. “I'LL RUN YE THROUGH, YE SCURVY WENCH!”
She wouldn't be going home for Christmas without the memory of Bludworth's haunting her. But before she could reach the exit of the dungeons, she would collide with a tall, male figure. She grabbed onto him like a lifesaver.
“PROFESSOR BURKE! HELP ME, PLEASE!” she squealed (pathetically, Bludworth would've added).
At that, Bludworth knew the fun was over. He ceased his frightening flight and sheathed his cutlass.
“Preston Burke,” Bludworth acknowledged as he eyes returned to normal. “Jus' in time to save a wee pureblood's neck, I see.”
TEMPLATE BY ELIZA @ BOTE
