CHAPTER 13: HALLOWEEN
Halloween morning brought something that was a nice surprise for America but probably a bad surprise for everyone else. Canada had been wolfing down some pancakes when the morning post arrived in the form of hundreds of owls carrying letters and packages. Everyone's attention, however, was caught by the small parliament of owls carrying two oddly-shaped packages heading towards the Gryffindor table. One package was long and thin and resembled how Harry's Nimbus had looked when it had been sent last year, but the other one was lumpier and if Canada hadn't known beforehand he probably never would have guessed correctly what it was.
Sure enough, the two packages were dropped right in front of America, along with a letter. Canada got up and walked over, because there was about a 90% chance that, after reading the letter, America would jump up and run over to him anyway. He arrived at the Gryffindor table just as America finished reading the letter. He tucked both packages somewhat awkwardly under one arm and used the other to grab Canada by the shoulder. "Yo, bro, we need to find an empty classroom or something!" Canada barely had time to grab the letter from the table before being dragged out of the Great Hall. Kumajaguar was in a good mood, it seemed, because he followed them.
As they walked, Canada gave the letter a read.
Dear Alfred,
I am not going to talk about Arthur. I tried in a previous draft of this letter, and I ended up becoming so angry I ripped it to shreds and threw it into a fire imagining it was his stupid face. All I will say about him is that he mentioned you two were going to Hogwarts, but not much else. How are you liking it there? I'd be interested in knowing how it's changed since we all left.
Now, getting to what I have no doubt was the point of your letter, here's an old Cleansweep 4 that I had lying around, and a chainsaw that's been enchanted so that it should work in a place with as much ambient magic as Hogwarts. Don't open them in the Great Hall, any Muggle-borns or halfbloods probably wouldn't react well to a chainsaw at breakfast. Go back to your dormitory or find an empty classroom or something. I am going to be charitable and assume you're not planning on using the chainsaw on any students. If you are, I should warn you that chainsaws don't make the best weapons. The chain will probably break as soon as it encounters something a hard as bone, and the results aren't going to be pretty for you.
Erin wants to write something as well. Write back soon.
Love, Patrick.
Dear Alfie,
Hello to you too! How are you liking it at Hogwarts? It's been ages since I've been there, literally. What house did you get Sorted into? Knowing you, you probably ended up in Gryffindor. Home of the brave and all that. I ended up in Hufflepuff myself, along with Dylan. Not as flashy, but they're all really nice people. They're using a hat to do the Sorting now, right? How exactly does that work? Tell me in your next letter! You are writing a next letter, right? You'd better be.
I think things between Patty and Arthur are settling down a bit. Patty would never admit it, but he's getting really tired of all this fighting. If Arthur isn't a massive (there was quite a bit of scribbling here, probably to cover up some choice expletives) scumbag, this should all go over in a few years. That's taking a big chance, though, because we all know how much of a (again, there was quite a few words scribbled out.)
Sorry. I see why Patty avoided talking about little brother. Moving on, Gilderoy Lockhart is teaching at Hogwarts? Wow, Dumbledore must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel. He's good-looking, I suppose, but there are plenty of people in the world more attractive, I have no idea how he's gotten this famous. I suppose it's one of those inexplicably popular things that really shouldn't be. I truly hope that a large percentage of his books' sales are just people wanting to see how dreadfully awful it is, and finding that the answer is 'very'. Just how bad are his lessons? Are you learning anything apart from the depths of human self-centeredness?
If you're planning on using the chainsaw on a student, then shame on you, that's horrible. But if the student is a Slytherin, feel free to chase them around a bit. And send me pictures!
Lots of love, Erin.
P.S. Oh, I almost forgot! How are you doing all your paperwork? Is your boss sending it to you, or what? You've been skipping on the meetings, I know that much. I need to know how you're doing it for the next time I'm really hung over.
Canada was always amazed by how Ireland managed to dot all her i's with little shamrocks without losing all feeling in her hand. He was also amazed how even Northern Ireland's handwriting could be intimidating. He didn't have time to wonder much else, because America had found an empty classroom. He released Canada to open the door and charged on inside, dropping the broomstick and chainsaw on a nearby desk. Canada sat down and placed Kumajunpei on his lap while America ripped open the packaging like a child on Christmas morning.
The broomstick looked rather old and not well taken care of. Knowing how lazy Northern Ireland could be, it had probably been lying around in his attic for decades collecting dust. The chainsaw was an older model, and looked quite ordinary. They'd have to take Northern Ireland for his word that there was anything special about it.
America was grinning. "Bro, this is PERFECT! Let's see…" He picked up the chainsaw and started it up. The sight of a grinning America wielding a chainsaw brought up some bad memories, and Canada found himself shrinking down in his seat, taking deep steadying breaths. America, of course, didn't notice. "Hey, bro, you got any hockey masks?"
Canada nodded. "Y-yeah, I brought one or two, eh." Please turn that off, please turn that off, please turn that off…
Apparently one of them was now telepathic, because America turned off the chainsaw and set it down again. He still had that evil grin on his face, though. "Good. I'm gonna need to borrow it. And maybe I can ask that Creevey to take pictures… yes, that could work…" He once again hefted the broomstick and chainsaw under one arm. "Yo, make sure to bring a mask to lunch! See ya!" He grabbed the letter from Canada's hands and left the room, probably to put his stuff back in his dormitory.
From inside the classroom, Canada heard Hermione say, "Oh, hello, Alfred? We were wondering what – DID HE REALLY SEND YOU A CHAINSAW?!"
"Yup! He's the best, isn't he? And Erin gave me an awesome idea for what to do with it!"
Canada looked down at Kumakindle. "Why are all of my relatives crazy?"
"Who?"
"I'm Matthew."
*time skip*
That night, Canada was torn between regretting accepting Harry's invitation to Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party and being glad he had. On the regret side, the smells coming from the kitchens were simply delicious, and he doubted there'd be much in the way of food at a ghost party. On the glad side, he'd probably be able to miss out on whatever America was planning to do with a chainsaw and the hockey mask Canada had reluctantly given him at lunch. Still, not going was out of the question. He'd agreed to it, and Nick was probably really excited to have some living people at his party.
So at seven o'clock, Canada, Harry, Ron and Hermione walked straight past the Great Hall and all its delicious smells and made their way to the dungeons. As they descended into the depths of the castle, Harry, Ron and Hermione started shivering and drawing their robes tighter around them. Was it really that cold to them? Canada had barely noticed a drop in temperature. As they got closer to where the party was being held, Canada heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous chalkboard. Not even he could think of something nice to say about it apart from 'it is not killing me with its sonic waves'.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. Canada couldn't bring himself to give any sort of defence to the noise. Not that it made much of a difference, since they turned a corner to find Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
"My dear friends," he said in a voice far too gloomy for someone throwing a party. "And… er… boy who looks a lot like Alfred… welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…" He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.
Canada had to admit that the sight was quite spectacular. Hundreds of ghosts, pearly-white and translucent, were drifting around the dungeon. Many were on the dance floor, waltzing to the sound of the … um… 'musical' saws being played by an orchestra on a black-draped platform. Black seemed to have been the theme colour. The stage, the candles, pretty much all of the decorations were black. Canada's breath had become foggy, and he was glad he'd developed such a resistance to cold, because otherwise he'd probably be very uncomfortable at the moment. Kumacackle seemed fascinated by his surroundings, walking up to a nearby ghost and batting a paw at her robes. He pulled it back quickly, growling at the sensation.
"Shall we take a look around?" Harry suggested.
"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously. That advice turned out to be quite useless for Canada. He did his best to avoid any incoming ghosts, but the ghosts weren't nearly as considerate. By the time they were halfway across the room he'd been walked through a dozen times. He was feeling rather shivery. He was used to external cold. He wasn't used to the cold of an imprint of a departed soul going through him on its way to the buffet table.
Canada's regret at coming to the party only increased as the night went on. Ron thought he'd spotted some food, only to find it was all completely rotted and would probably kill any living thing that tried to eat it. Then they ran into Peeves, which actually went a lot better than it usually did. Compared to his usual behaviour, he was downright polite. The conversation ended with him chasing another ghost named Moaning Myrtle, throwing mouldy peanuts at her and yelling "Spotty! Spotty!" And all throughout this, ghosts kept waltzing through Canada. He was starting to feel rather faint. Having ghosts walk through you couldn't be good for your health.
While Harry, Ron and Hermione had a conversation with the host, Canada was approached by another ghost. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for another walk-through. Instead he heard the ghost say in an old style of French, "Do I know you?" Canada opened his eyes and looked at the ghost. He looked about middle-aged, and he was dressed in furs that reminded Canada of the voyageurs of his childhood, back when he'd still been a French colony. Uh-oh. This could end badly.
Canada decided to pull a leaf from America's book and play dumb. "Eh… I'm sorry?" he said in English.
The ghost sighed. "Ah, of course. My apologies. You couldn't be 'im." The ghost held out a hand, then seemed to think better of it and took it back. "My name is Pierre Bonnot. What is yours?"
Yeah, this could end, really, really badly. "Matthew Jones," said Canada.
Bonnot's eyes widened. "Hmm… 'ow curious. Ze boy I was zinking of was named Matthieu, too. I never learned 'is last name… Tell me, are you from Canada?"
Really, really, really badly. "Yes."
"Interesting… I zink I may 'ave met an ancestor of yours." Canada relaxed as the ghost continued, "I was a voyageur, you see – I went to Canada from France to work ze fur trade. I remember zere was a little boy named Matthieu 'oo used to 'elp us navigate ze rivers. 'E was ze spitting image of you. Always so polite… it is good to know 'e lived on to 'ave children. I… wasn't so lucky. It seems I was only able to return 'ome after my death." Pierre smiled at Canada and bowed slightly. "I apologize for taking up your time. It was very nice to meet you, Matthieu."
"You, too, eh," said Canada, feeling more relieved than he could ever remember feeling as Bonnot floated away. Now that he thought about it, he could vaguely recall the man. He'd been cheerful and always very nice to him. Canada hadn't known that he'd died. He felt a bit bad now. He felt even worse when yet another ghost sailed through him to talk with a friend.
It was at that moment that the Headless Hunt decided to make its entrance – right through Canada. His legs gave way under him, and he barely held onto his consciousness. His head was feeling too fuzzy to make out what anyone was saying, until he felt a hand – an actual, flesh and blood hand – on his shoulder. "Matthew, are you okay?" Harry asked, concerned.
Canada nodded. "Y-yeah, I'll be fine, eh." He got up to his feet, swaying slightly. Kuma was at his side, trying to steady him. He wasn't all that successful, due to his small size, but it was the thought that counted.
"I remember reading somewhere that having too many ghosts walk through you in a short period of time can be devastating to your health," said Hermione. "We should probably get him out of here."
"We should all get out of here," growled Ron. "I'm starving. Let's see if there's any food left over at the feast." Normally Canada would have objected, saying that it was rude to leave a party partway through without informing the host, thanking them for their hospitality, apologizing for leaving hearly, etc. Thankfully he wasn't feeling well enough to do any of those things, so he just blearily followed his friends through the exit.
"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way towards the steps to the Entrance Hall. Harry suddenly stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall. Canada was just going to ask him whether any ghosts had walked through him, too, but stopped. The look on Harry's face was similar to that of someone who'd just had a ghost walk through them, but that wasn't quite right.
Ron and Hermione glanced back at their friend, looking just as confused as Canada felt. "Harry, what're you-?"
"It's that voice again – shut up a minute –" Was this the voice America had told him about? The dread coursing through him now wasn't helping Canada's already jumbled brain. "Listen!" said Harry, with such urgency that they all froze. None of them could hear anything, and there didn't seem to be anything in the passageway with them. "This way!" Harry shouted, and he began to run up the stairs. A very confused Canada, Ron and Hermione followed him. Clearly he was hearing something, and while normally someone babbling about hearing a voice no one else could would have Canada suggest they go see a doctor, they were at a school of magic. Anything was possible.
"Harry, what are we-" Hermione began.
"SHH!" Harry was clearly not wanting any distractions. They kept running, and suddenly Harry shouted, "It's going to kill someone!" Ron and Hermione looked very bewildered. Canada felt his stomach lurch. He had no idea what was going on, but he got the feeling that they were about to find out why England had asked Canada and America to protect Harry.
Finally, at the last, deserted passage of the second floor, Harry stopped. The four of them all struggled to regain their breath. Kumagecko was looking miffed about being forced to run so much. "Harry, what was that all about?' said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything…" Canada was too busy struggling not to faint from exhaustion to say anything.
But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. "Look!" And then their eyes fell on the sight that would change the course of the year for the worse. Much, much worse.
A/N: WHOOOO CLIFFHANGER! I'm pretty sure you guys know what they saw. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Once again, the Halloween chapter was chapter 13. Other than that, I can't really think of too much to say about this chapter, so let's move on to Q&A. Just a few this time. To Crossover Junkie: I am going to explain it next chapter! Just be patient, please, okay? To Berlin: Huh? Five hours and the one hour? That's weird, I'm pretty sure that didn't happen. I'm not THAT fast at updating. As for the drunken America idea, that might be fun! And then everyone could yell at Northern Ireland for giving someone underage alcohol. I'll see if I remember to add it in. For the second question, you really enjoy asking strange questions completely unrelated to the story, don't you? I guess I'd choose blue. NEXT CHAPTER: America has to send a lot of letters. See you all next time!