Hermione was right, Elizabeth thought. It made perfect sense to give the benefit of the doubt when relating to the ghosts here. There was so much about them they didn’t know still, so a bit of learning never hurt, especially when one wasn’t alone in the pursuit of knowledge. She merely nodded her agreement.
But the question put Elizabeth’s train of thought back a few feet. She considered her for a moment before she reached over and took the nametag, looking down at the name that had been engraved on the little plastic rectangle.
“Elizabeth,” she said, still looking down at it. She pushed the thought aside and glanced back up at Hermione, setting the nametag face down on the table before she continued to speak.
“Where I’m from...is complicated. I was born in 1893, in New York. When I was a baby, I was taken to a city called Columbia,” she said, deciding to glaze over the part where Columbia floated above the clouds. That would be a very long conversation indeed. “My father and I both woke up here.”
“So, where you’re from, there’s magic? And...a school for magic, where you’re separated into-- what did you call them? Houses?” That was far more interesting than her own story, she decided.