Chapter 10: Happy Deathday, Sir Nicholas
In spite of the circumstances that brought them there, it was honestly pretty cool to have her parents at Hogwarts for the next day. And it was Halloween, to boot. There were already live bats hanging around the Great Hall when Rose, Al, and Scorpius made it down for breakfast the next morning, and of course it was hard to miss Hagrid's giant pumpkins, which had been carved into jack-o'-lanterns so large that Rose easily could have done a full cartwheel in one of them. Hundreds of charcoal grey and black candles floated above the tables, and Fred and Roxy had joined forces to make sure that any student who wanted one of the new Halloween-themed Whizbangs would not go wanting, with the result being that the Great Hall was extremely well lit and a little on fire.
Rose's father gave a definitely-subtle thumbs up to both Fred and Roxy at their respective tables, while Rose's mother frowned worriedly at a stretch of orange bunting that was burning merrily. She put it out with a flick of her wand. Ron and Hermione, as well as Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, were stationed at the Head Table during breakfast, with Al's parents talking animatedly with Hagrid. No doubt something about Uncle Charlie and his dragons, Rose thought, and was gratified to see Aunt Ginny clearly gesticulate something resembling large wings flapping.
"That's Harry Potter," Annabelle said, claiming a spot on a bench in a manner that could best be described as "flouncing." Katie's mouth formed a perfect "O" as she took her seat, and Willow reacted hardly at all, except to sweep her eyes briefly along the Head Table and nod.
"Whoaaaa." This from Dax, who was usually pre-verbal before noon.
"You really are the spitting image of him, Al," Connor said, casually helping himself to a pile of bacon large enough to feed a hippogriff.
"Yeah," said Al, "I hear that a lot."
"Except he's taller, wears glasses, and has a wicked scar," Connor added around a mouth newly stuffed with bacon.
"Yes, those are the only differences," said Scorpius.
"And those are your parents, right, Rose?" Katie asked. Rose nodded as Katie studied her intently, eyes flicking back and forth between Rose and the High Table. "Yes, I can see it," she said finally.
"Er, thanks?" Rose said, not sure if this was supposed to be complimentary.
"Are they here to talk to Sprout because of the news about the Death Eaters?" Willow asked quietly.
"The what now?" Al replied, mouth dropping open to reveal an unpalatable mass of food.
"Honestly, Al," Annabelle said, shaking her dark curls and wrinkling her nose, "You'd think you of all people would be following it. It's been all over the papers."
"Neither of us gets the Daily Prophet," Rose said, wishing suddenly that she'd thought to ask her parents for a subscription.
"There've been a few interviews recently with Muggle families that were targeted by the . . . you know . . . because they had a child who was at Hogwarts," Katie explained with a pained expression. "They couldn't be memory-wiped in the same way because they already knew about the whole Wizarding world, and now some of them have come forward saying that their attackers were never brought to justice."
"But a lot of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban," Al said stoutly.
"Er . . . not all of them," Katie said, darting a glance at Scorpius and blushing fiercely. "I mean . . .," she said, "It's not just the ones who were caught and then got out of Azkaban. Some of the families are saying their attackers were never caught in the first place. That there's no record of them anywhere."
Scorpius stared intently down at his plate.
"It's just . . .," Katie continued. "I'm a Muggleborn. It's scary, you know? And I think people are asking the Aurors to – "
"To catch Death Eaters they don't even know exist?" Al asked, unmistakably defensive.
"To at least go looking," Katie said with a stubborn tilt to her chin.
"They have been looking," Rose said, glancing again at the High Table. Now that she was looking for it, her dad did look awfully tired. So did Uncle Harry. The public pressure to find the hidden remainders of the Death Eaters must be immense, but they'd mentioned none of it last night.
She took a deep breath. "No, I don't think that's why they're here, actually," she said, and she and Al hastened to explain the public version of the story. Rose assumed Al had explained the full situation to Scorpius the previous night.
After a moment, Rose let Al take over the explanations and instead watched as each of her cousins stop by the High Table at some point during breakfast to say hi to their aunts and uncles. Molly was, of course, Head Girl this year (which Uncle Percy had mentioned about once a minute over the summer, particularly when Uncle Bill happened to be nearby); she was up and had been at the High Table when Rose had walked in, looking spectacularly awake and standing quietly with her hands clasped in front of her. Dom and Lucy made their way over next from the direction of the Hufflepuff table. Dom somehow made her Hogwarts robes look like a fashion statement and had covered her mostly-shorn head in a patterned scarf, while Lucy was fighting a spectacular case of bedhead that threatened to engulf her collar. Fred was next, tousling his hair with some nerves as he brought Kimberly up to the High Table with him. Roxy, with an air of energy and sprightliness and knowing-that-she-was-definitely-going-to-help-blow-a-few-things-up-that-day, practically skipped up to the table before she bounced off to her classes. Louis and James were, of course, last down to breakfast, last to go to the High Table, and loudest.
Despite their fatigue, her parents and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny put on a good show of being thrilled to see each and every relative. James, however, seemed to have less of a positive opinion of his parents dropping in once he'd visited their table. He'd come back to the Gryffindor table scowling and kept shooting dark glances at the High Table. Although perhaps that was just generally how he looked in the mornings, which would explain why Aunt Ginny always sent Uncle Harry to wake him up.
They made their way down from the Head Table to where the Gryffindors say as Rose, Al, and Scorpius were packing up to head to class.
"Mornin', Rosie, Al," Rose's father said with a hint of a yawn.
"And good morning, Scorpius," Rose's mother said, looking meaningfully at Ron.
"Er, morning, Scorpius," Ron added.
"Good morning," Scorpius said softly.
"Meep," said Annabelle.
Rose cleared her throat and introduced the rest of the second year Gryffindors (minus Melisenda, who Rose had gratefully noticed was breakfasting with the Slytherins again this morning). They seemed strangely unsure of how to act around the most famous war heroes currently alive in the Wizarding world.
"I have all your chocolate frog cards," Bradley blurted at last before going bright red. Willow shook all of their hands gravely, and Katie chatted happily with Rose's mum – it turned out her father was a dentist as well.
When the other Gryffindors had left for class, Rose's mum held her and Al back. Scorpius walked a few steps away, then turned back, clearly unsure if he should stay or go. He settled for standing a few feet away and staring up at the ceiling, which was moody and grey, threatening rain later in the day.
"We were hoping," Hermione said, "That you might come to the Deathday party with us tonight." This was not at all what Rose had been expecting. She blinked in surprise. "I know it would mean missing the Feast," her mother continued hurriedly, "But we've told James that we'll get your food situation sorted in advance if you'd like to join us. It really is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see something like this."
"Twice-in-a-lifetime," Uncle Harry added helpfully.
"Once-in-an-afterlife-time," Rose's father muttered. Aunt Ginny snorted.
"You're welcome to come too, Scorpius," Hermione called over to the small blond boy currently trying to look very absorbed in the sleeping bats. "We've told Nearly Headless Nick we'll be bringing guests." Scorpius looked back at Rose and Al, waiting for their cue. Rose looked at Al. She didn't particularly want to miss the Feast, but she was deeply curious what a Deathday party would be like. She shrugged and nodded.
"If we can still get food, I'm in," Al said.
"Be sure to dress warmly," Rose's mum said. "It gets cold in the dungeons."
. . .
Even with an extra jumper, Rose was shivering by the time they'd been at the Deathday party for an hour. It wasn't just that it was cold, she thought. It's that it was somehow damp as well, and even the flickering candles around the dungeon let off a blue light that carried no warmth. The mass of ghosts around her certainly didn't help, and the one time she'd stumbled through one of them (she thought it might have been the Wailing Widow from Kent, who'd then tried politely to introduce herself while attired in a wedding gown with a hangman's noose around her neck), she felt as though she'd accidentally dumped ice down her robes. It was hard to avoid the translucent, pearly figures as they drifted throughout the dungeons, catching up with each other about their hauntings and . . . whatever else it was that kept ghosts busy.
They were the only living people in the dungeons, which Rose had noticed the second Nearly Headless Nick had ushered them into the room, beaming and being sure to greet Uncle Harry as loudly as possible. Even the collected ghosts tittered when Harry Potter walked into the room, and Rose thought Peeves (attired in a bold orange-and-blue polka-dotted bowtie that made him stand out from the rest of the ghosts like a sore thumb) might have cackled with extra vigor when he caught sight of Uncle Harry and her father. Rose saw James roll his eyes at the attention before edging off to try to corner the Bloody Baron. Apparently, even the Baron's fearsome reputation could not put off James Potter's unerring instinct for trouble.
Rose, Al, and Scorpius huddled together as far from the chill of the dungeon walls as possible, which unfortunately put them close enough to the table of food to get occasional waves of the smell.
The table in the center of the room was draped in a black tablecloth and scattered with the same black candles as the rest of the room. The dishes were beautiful – there were some Rose was sure were onyx, but most were silver and very ornate. And on them . . . were things that used to be food. Molding vegetables, meat that shone slightly green, and rotting fish were laid out beautifully next to fruit that was covered in fuzz and fungus, slabs of blue or green cheese, and a selection of desserts that had been burnt to a crisp. In the place of honor was a grey, tombstone-shaped cake decorated (Rose presumed) to look like Nearly Headless Nick's actual tombstone. Rose was hopeful that perhaps the cake might be edible, but upon closer inspection, even the icing looked to be colored with actual charcoal.
"Why, hello!" Rose heard her mother call in a strangely cheerful tone. Rose looked round, and saw that Moaning Myrtle had spotted her mother and made a ghostly beeline in their direction. Rose, having been warned off Myrtle's bathroom quite early in her Hogwarts career by Victoire, had been hoping to avoid any interaction with the histrionic ghost, but it seemed that she remembered Ron, Hermione, and especially Uncle Harry.
"You brewed a potion in my bathroom, do you remember?" Myrtle was asking breathlessly, while Aunt Ginny tried to hide her laugh in coughing.
"Er . . . good times, good times!" said Rose's father. His smile looked pasted on.
"I haven't had much company since, you know," Myrtle said, sniffing. "No one ever comes to visit me. Well, not until this year, at least."
"These are our children, Myrtle," Hermione said loudly, indicating the lot of them. She pointed to Rose. "My daughter's there. She's a second-year Gryffindor this year. Brightest witch of her age," she said proudly. Myrtle gave Rose a once-over and turned up her nose.
"And my sons," Uncle Harry said, pointing to James and Al by turns.
Myrtle seemed to take great offense to this. "You have children?" She said, sniffling, her eyes seeming to fill suddenly with tears.
"Er," said Uncle Harry.
"We've been married for sixteen years, Myrtle," Aunt Ginny said, holding up hers and Uncle Harry's intertwined hands and pointing to her wedding ring. "I distinctly remember inviting you to the wedding, in fact."
"Tactless!" Myrtle cried, flinging her arms wide and now sobbing in earnest, "Tactless to bring them here and throw them in my face when I've never – when I can't – " Myrtle covered her eyes with ghostly hands, unable to finish, her translucent shoulders shaking. Pearly tears leaked from behind her fingers. And then, without warning, she let out a shriek and fled, her cries reverberating throughout the room for what felt like a supernaturally long time before fading. Rose thought she might be louder even than the noise of the musical saws coming from the bandstand.
"Old Myrtle's always good for a laugh, eh Potty?" said Peeves, appearing very suddenly floating at Uncle Harry's elbow.
"'lo, Peeves," said Aunt Ginny cheerfully. "Thrown anything good at anyone recently?"
"Couldn't say," said Peeves, grinning and twirling his bowtie, clearly trying to look innocent.
"Only someone interrupted my Defense class today by throwing what I can only assume were Charmed pots and hippogriff manure at me," Uncle Harry said drily. "So I'm sure you can understand why we're asking."
Peeves cackled and flipped upside down, looking at Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny through his knees. "Weren't me, wee Potty!"
"Are you sure?"
"If it was, you'll never catch me alive!"
There was a beat.
"Waddiwasi!" cried three voices (which sounded an awful lot like Uncle Harry and Rose's parents) in unison, while one lone voice (which sounded an awful lot like Aunt Ginny) cast a Bat Bogey hex.
It seemed likely that this confluence of spells had never been simultaneously used on one person . . . er, being before, and probably for good reason. The noise was tremendous.
When the flashes of light dimmed, Peeves was struggling with what appeared to be a serious case of screeching bat bogeys that, courtesy of the Waddiwasi spell, kept trying to burrow further up his nose.
Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, and Rose's parents looked at each other in a self-congratulatory kind of way. Peeves, on the other hand, was not in a celebrating mood. Rose watched in fascination as he sneezed and another spellwork bat was born, only to zoom straight back towards its maker, as it were: the bat grasped onto one large nostril and tried vigorously to tunnel inside. Peeves was yelping loudly in alarm and clawing at his nose, flailing around in midair and crashing into all manner of other guests.
Most of the noise in the dungeon ceased. The attention of the whole of the ghostly host focused on Peeves. The band screeched (literally) to a halt.
Out of nowhere, a semitransparent hand grasped Peeves's ear and threw him, quite unceremoniously, through the ceiling. The Bloody Baron stood in the center of the room, silent, covered in bloodstains, still glowering. There was a cavernous silence in Peeve's absence.
"I have always wanted to do that!" cried Nearly Headless Nick.
"You ought to add that one to the trainee handbook," Rose's father muttered to Uncle Harry, who nodded fervently.
The party resumed in full swing after Peeve's ouster, but by Rose's estimation, it was growing quite late. James was nowhere to be found, having scampered off to do Merlin-knows-what, and her parents had been engrossed in conversation by the Fat Friar and the jolly-looking ghost of a nun.
Rose found herself staring off into space. She could practically feel her eyes glazing over as she grew more and more tired. Al and Scorpius were still chattering away to each other, but she no longer had the energy to engage in the conversation. The crowd of ghosts had thinned somewhat – perhaps ghosts got tired and went home, too? – and she noticed the ghost of a pale young woman in a bloodstained dress who seemed to be staring in her direction, but found her eyes sliding past the slim figure. Let the ghosts stare if they would. It wasn't as though she were doing anything interesting. She gazed without thought deep into the blue candlelight. The tapers seemed to have not burned down at all throughout the night, though Rose could have sworn she'd been there for hours. They seemed to pull in any warmth that was in the dungeon; Rose could hardly feel her fingers at all anymore.
She started when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
"Rosie, love, I think you're falling asleep standing up," her mother said kindly.
"I am awfully tired," Rose admitted grudgingly, "And very, very cold."
Hermione crouched down so that her quiet words would reach her daughter's ears. "I think the three of you have been real soldiers tonight. It's all right if you want to leave now," she said kindly. "We'll have to stay to say our goodbyes to Nearly Headless Nick and the rest, but we'll see you tomorrow at breakfast before we head off, if you like."
"Thanks, Mum," Rose said quietly.
"If anyone sees you out after curfew . . ." Hermione began, "Well, if you must blame it on your father and I, that's all right. But try not to get caught, all right?"
Rose just grinned in answer. She gathered Al and Scorpius, hugged her father and her aunt and uncle, and made to leave the dungeon, longing for the comparative warmth that even the corridors outside promised. On her way out, she almost walked right through the strange pale woman she had seen earlier, and noticed that it wasn't her that the woman was staring so intently at – it was Scorpius. But the woman let the three of them pass without comment, and a moment later they had left the Deathday party and were on their way back to Gryffindor Tower. They padded the long corridor in silence. Rose, at least, was focused so much on regaining all the feeling in her fingers that she didn't have much to say.
The halls in this part of the castle were made of a stone that was darker – or perhaps just older – than most of the rest of the castle. And they were out after curfew, which meant that the corridor was not as well-lit as it might have been during the day or early evening. The portraits on the walls looked dark and sinister in the half-light, their occupants either sleeping or darting furtively between frames. The result was, to Rose, the disconcerting impression that things were constantly moving just out of her line of sight.
This was perhaps why she initially ignored the niggling voice in her head that told her there was someone skulking in the corridor just ahead of them. At least until Al pulled she and Scorpius quite suddenly into an alcove.
"Ouch!" Rose hissed, "What was that for?"
"Shhhhh," Al whispered, "There was someone ahead of us. A student."
"And?" Rose whispered back.
"And it's past curfew," Al whispered in mock outrage, "No one is supposed to be wandering the corridors. Shouldn't you know that, Rosie?"
"It could be a prefect," Rose pointed out, reasonably.
"It could be James," Scorpius whispered.
"All the more reason not to get caught," Al responded.
"So what're you suggesting?" Rose whispered, "That we hide in this alcove all night?"
"We just have to be careful," Al replied, "They're going the same way we are. We just have to follow . . . quietly." He stuck his head out into the corridor, nodded, and motioned for Rose and Scorpius to follow him. The three of them trod as lightly as possible down the hallway. Now that she was looking more carefully, Rose could see that there was indeed a figure almost lost in the darkness ahead of them. Whoever it was looked too small to be a prefect. And without really trying, they were gaining on the small figure, almost as though whoever it was had stopped and stood still against the dark stone wall.
As they grew closer, it became apparent that they were talking to someone or something – a girl's voice, Rose thought, now that she could hear, not an adult. And she was standing still now – or rather, crouching still, bent over her hands. That's when Rose recognized the posture. She yanked on Al and Scorpius's robes, bringing them to an abrupt halt, and brought them in between two suits of armor that formed a convenient sheltered spot where they could be unseen.
"Melisenda!" Rose almost mouthed, hoping they could see her in the darkness. Al rolled his eyes, she thought, but Scorpius craned his head toward Melisenda's crouched form, trying to hear what she was saying. It was hard to catch – they were just far enough to have been on edge of true earshot when she'd stopped them – what Rose wouldn't have given for a set of Extendable Ears at that moment. Still, she was able to hear snippets of the conversation Melisdenda was carrying on, apparently with herself.
"There's . . . Quidditch game . . . this weekend . . . work?" There was a long pause. "Of course, sir." Pause. "I'm working on . . . greenhouse . . . the venom." Pause. "Wendy will not . . . moving forward." Long pause. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."
There was another long pause. Rose strained to hear more but couldn't catch the sound of Melisenda's voice at all now. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to sharpen her hearing by willpower alone, wracking her brain for a spell that could improve her long-distance hearing, and coming up short. She thought she heard a couple of heavy footfalls, then nothing more.
After a long while of silence, Al poked his head out from the suit of armor. "She's gone now," he confirmed. Scorpius and Rose, following him, clamored out from between the metal soldiers and into the center of the corridor.
"Right," said Rose, at almost normal volume, "I hate to say 'I told you so –'"
"Do you, though?" Scorpius broke in. Rose glared at him.
Author's Note: In my head, Harry and Ginny really did invite Myrtle to their wedding - though that was mostly because it was held at Hogwarts. Harry, always shy of the limelight, really, really wanted a small wedding - immediate family (well, the Weasleys, not the Dursleys), a few friends, perhaps a small reception at the Leaky Cauldron or somewhere in Hogsmeade. But Ginny was Molly Weasley's only daughter, part of an exceedingly large family, and the only Weasley woman born in generations, so Harry didn't wind up with much choice in the matter. To be fair, neither did Ginny. In the end, Hogwarts was the only venue Harry would even consider that was large enough to fit everyone Mrs. Weasley wanted to invite. Once it was settled that the wedding would be at the castle, Harry insisted on inviting Nearly Headless Nick. They invited Myrtle mostly so she wouldn't gatecrash and flood the hall.
Myrtle missed the wedding, having been "accidentally" flushed into the Great Lake just before the festivities by Hermione, who had a much more realistic outlook on Myrtle's ability to attend the reception without causing a scene.
Thanks for reading! As usual, feedback in any form is appreciated :)
Love always, bbh