Chapter 2
It was a much subdued party that, one-by-one, entered the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron and traveled by means of Floo powder back to the Burrow. Each recipient of the sparkling powder was careful to speak the name of their destination clearly; the recent tragedy was still far too fresh in their minds.
Hermione departed immediately for the small blue house just outside of Lancaster to be with her parents - who were quite relieved to have her back in one piece - and so the only residents of the Burrow now were the Weasleys.
The ramshackle country house was quieter than ever before. Arthur worked late often at the Ministry, coming home past ten when most of the children were in bed. Molly scolded her children far less, and kept a box of tissues nearby - one never knew when one might begin to sob at old memories. The frequent explosions from Fred and George's room were strangely absent; even Percy was subdued and sent Hermes out increasingly less often, until he had almost lost touch with all of his schoolfriends. Ginny, like her mother, burst into tears at odd times, and was often excused from the dinner table in these periods.
Ron, however, was the most affected. He almost never came out from his room, except at mealtimes. Errol was often seen flying to and fro from his bedroom window, as were various post owls - from Hermione, everyone supposed.
When the time came to board the Hogwarts Express, Arthur was shocked at the silence that reigned over the nearly-always-chaotic Platform Nine and Three- quarters. Many Gryffindor students, whether or not they knew or associated directly with Harry, were red-eyed and gloomy, as were Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Even a few Slytherin House students were quiet and looked suspiciously as if they'd been crying.
Draco Malfoy and his friends seemed to be the only children laughing or even talking that day. As Ron and the others climbed aboard the scarlet steam engine and met up with Hermione Arthur again noticed the complete silence, broken only by loud laughs from Malfoy's compartment. Silently Arthur turned and followed Molly back through the barrier and into the Muggle world, without another glance or wave back to his children. He didn't think he could stand one more sight of the cheery train with it's red coat of paint and pleasant spiral of smoke.
* * *
Harry had been left quite alone since Voldemort had come to see him. The only visitor to his cell-like bedroom was a quiet, disdainful woman who could only be Narcissa Malfoy, at mealtimes when she brought up a tray of unappetizing food.
He spent his time listlessly walking around the room, thinking dark thoughts about his captors, and wising that he were back in the Burrow with the Weasleys. Sometimes, out of sheer boredom, he made the bed -- and then promptly unmade it, and made it again. Once, Narcissa Malfoy had stumbled upon him while he was making it (for the third time in a row, although of course she couldn't have known that) and sneered slightly as he flushed a bright shade of scarlet. After that, he'd been careful to keep this pastime to the morning (after breakfast) and the late evening (after dinner).
He'd lost track of the days, but was sure that it was past September the 1st, the day they were told to board the Hogwarts Express -- which would have made it about two weeks since his capture. He felt very much like a prisoner of war, although he was never questioned -- no, not even visited by someone other than Mrs. Malfoy.
About seventeen days after his capture (if he had figured right, and it was September 4th) he heard a new sound -- it was the sound of what seemed to be three people arguing heatedly. Feeling rather foolish, he pressed his ear to the floor, where he was able to hear more clearly.
"Really, it's completely impractical to do that. Who would it benefit? The boy's not there. Doesn't that erase the point?"
There was a loud, emphatic thump from the lower floor.
"It most certainly does not erase the point, Mister Nott --"
"But sir, if the boy's gone, what's the use of the whole plan?"
Harry took off his glasses and placed them on the floor beside him -- now he could hear even better, as his entire head was smashed against the dingy prune-colored carpet.
"I most certainly agree, Danady," Nott, the first speaker, broke in.
An icy silence hung over the room and Harry strained to hear any voices. Finally the second man spoke coldly to Nott and Danady.
"Gentlemen, I see you have missed the point. The boy is not at the school, but our exalted Master can still use his plot to rid the place of Mudbloods. Now do you see the point?"
One of the others muttered something, something Harry did not catch but one word of -- monster.
* * *
The feast at Hogwarts was much subdued the night of September 1st. Only those at the Slytherin table still laughed loudly. Even those who had little or no idea of what had happened were silent, concluding that it must have been something terrible to cast such a pall over the assembly. After all of the newest first years had been sorted, Headmaster Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat. All in the hall -- even those at the Slytherin table -- waited expectantly for his message.
"Welcome, to another year at Hogwarts," he said, rather dully. "I am afraid that at the opening of this year we must begin with some . truly terrible news."
He waited a moment, and the hall became deathly silent.
"One student, that many of you know personally and many others by sight, has been taken from our midst in a terrible accident that is believed to be connected to You-Know-Who -- Lord Voldemort." A whisper ran through the assembly as he spoke the name of the Dark Lord, but soon subsided as Dumbledore continued. "That student," he said quite heavily, "Is Harry Potter."
An uproar ensued. Questions were thrown at the Headmaster from the tables of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff; boos and jeers from Slytherin. "What happened?" was the popular query of students to their schoolmates. "I don't know," was the most common answer.
Dumbledore raised his hands for silence; the chatter died away as quickly as it had come. "We are all deeply hurt by the disappearance of Mr. Potter, whether or not we knew him directly. But I believe that the most affected of all of us are Mr. Ronald Weasley and his family and Hermione Granger, along with the rest of the Gryffindors and others who knew Harry well. And now --" He sighed heavily and waved a hand, after which gesture the plates filled with all manner of food. "Let us eat."
* * *
One month and twenty days after term began, on October twentieth, preparations for the Halloween Feast were already underway. A flurry of activity existed perpetually in the teacher's own living quarters, while the students all excitedly discussed the rumors flying around the school about what Professor Dumbledore had done to ensure the success of the evening. A popular rumor was that he had booked a trio of dancing skeletons; another was that he had invited five singers -- the Wily Witches -- from WRS, a popular wizarding radio station, and that the Witches had accepted the invitation and were scheduled to sing a large selection of their greatest hits (including "Poisonous Love" and "Under the Full Moon, You Transform for Me").
Even the Weasley children and Hermione began to creep out of their shells of misery to watch the festive preparations going on in the dormitories and the great hall. One afternoon Ron even commented on how much he hoped the Wily Witches rumor was true.
One Tuesday afternoon as Ron and Hermione walked together, separated from the other second years by a web of sorrow, Nearly Headless Nick glided through the walls nearby, muttering angrily and holding a transparent envelope in one hand and an equally ghostlike letter in the other.
"You look troubled, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," he said when he saw them, tucking the letter into the envelope and the envelope into his doublet.
"So do you," said Ron.
"A matter of no importance.it's not as thought I really wanted to join.thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements'--"
In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.
"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"
"Oh -- yes," said Hermione, obviously supposed to agree. Ron nodded.
"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However --"
Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:
"'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"
Fuming, Nick stuffed the letter away.
"I wish there was something we could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Hermione said suddenly.
"Yeah," Ron added. "Write them a letter or -- or something."
"But.." Nick hesitated, and then continued, his voice gaining enthusiasm. "There is something you could do! Would I be asking too much -- but no, you wouldn't want --"
"What?" Ron asked.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nick, looking dignified. "I would be honored if the two of you would attend the party I'm holding down in one of the roomier dungeons. But.I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" he struggled to keep his face from falling and failed.
"No!" said Ron and Hermione together. "We'll come," Hermione added. "But how would it help you..?"
"Do you -- do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
"Of course," Ron said. "Sure," Hermione answered at the same time.
Nearly Headless Nick beamed at them.
* * *
"You what?" Fred asked in amazement later that night in the Gryffindor Common Room, after Ron had explained about Nick's five hundredth deathday party.
"We.said we'd go," said Ron, embarrassed now.
"To the deathday party," Hermione supplied. "Nearly Headless Nick's.."
"I know that," Fred said irritably. "But why did you say you'd go?"
"Er.."
Fred threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, whatever you want. But you'll miss the school feast, and the Wily Witches or the skeletons -- whichever Dumbledore picks.."
Ron mumbled something unintelligible and fled to the boy's dormitory. Hermione glared severely at Fred. "You shouldn't have made him mad," she said angrily. "Have you ever thought of what he's going through?" With this, she, too turned on her heel and ran up the stairs to her dormitory.
It was a much subdued party that, one-by-one, entered the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron and traveled by means of Floo powder back to the Burrow. Each recipient of the sparkling powder was careful to speak the name of their destination clearly; the recent tragedy was still far too fresh in their minds.
Hermione departed immediately for the small blue house just outside of Lancaster to be with her parents - who were quite relieved to have her back in one piece - and so the only residents of the Burrow now were the Weasleys.
The ramshackle country house was quieter than ever before. Arthur worked late often at the Ministry, coming home past ten when most of the children were in bed. Molly scolded her children far less, and kept a box of tissues nearby - one never knew when one might begin to sob at old memories. The frequent explosions from Fred and George's room were strangely absent; even Percy was subdued and sent Hermes out increasingly less often, until he had almost lost touch with all of his schoolfriends. Ginny, like her mother, burst into tears at odd times, and was often excused from the dinner table in these periods.
Ron, however, was the most affected. He almost never came out from his room, except at mealtimes. Errol was often seen flying to and fro from his bedroom window, as were various post owls - from Hermione, everyone supposed.
When the time came to board the Hogwarts Express, Arthur was shocked at the silence that reigned over the nearly-always-chaotic Platform Nine and Three- quarters. Many Gryffindor students, whether or not they knew or associated directly with Harry, were red-eyed and gloomy, as were Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Even a few Slytherin House students were quiet and looked suspiciously as if they'd been crying.
Draco Malfoy and his friends seemed to be the only children laughing or even talking that day. As Ron and the others climbed aboard the scarlet steam engine and met up with Hermione Arthur again noticed the complete silence, broken only by loud laughs from Malfoy's compartment. Silently Arthur turned and followed Molly back through the barrier and into the Muggle world, without another glance or wave back to his children. He didn't think he could stand one more sight of the cheery train with it's red coat of paint and pleasant spiral of smoke.
* * *
Harry had been left quite alone since Voldemort had come to see him. The only visitor to his cell-like bedroom was a quiet, disdainful woman who could only be Narcissa Malfoy, at mealtimes when she brought up a tray of unappetizing food.
He spent his time listlessly walking around the room, thinking dark thoughts about his captors, and wising that he were back in the Burrow with the Weasleys. Sometimes, out of sheer boredom, he made the bed -- and then promptly unmade it, and made it again. Once, Narcissa Malfoy had stumbled upon him while he was making it (for the third time in a row, although of course she couldn't have known that) and sneered slightly as he flushed a bright shade of scarlet. After that, he'd been careful to keep this pastime to the morning (after breakfast) and the late evening (after dinner).
He'd lost track of the days, but was sure that it was past September the 1st, the day they were told to board the Hogwarts Express -- which would have made it about two weeks since his capture. He felt very much like a prisoner of war, although he was never questioned -- no, not even visited by someone other than Mrs. Malfoy.
About seventeen days after his capture (if he had figured right, and it was September 4th) he heard a new sound -- it was the sound of what seemed to be three people arguing heatedly. Feeling rather foolish, he pressed his ear to the floor, where he was able to hear more clearly.
"Really, it's completely impractical to do that. Who would it benefit? The boy's not there. Doesn't that erase the point?"
There was a loud, emphatic thump from the lower floor.
"It most certainly does not erase the point, Mister Nott --"
"But sir, if the boy's gone, what's the use of the whole plan?"
Harry took off his glasses and placed them on the floor beside him -- now he could hear even better, as his entire head was smashed against the dingy prune-colored carpet.
"I most certainly agree, Danady," Nott, the first speaker, broke in.
An icy silence hung over the room and Harry strained to hear any voices. Finally the second man spoke coldly to Nott and Danady.
"Gentlemen, I see you have missed the point. The boy is not at the school, but our exalted Master can still use his plot to rid the place of Mudbloods. Now do you see the point?"
One of the others muttered something, something Harry did not catch but one word of -- monster.
* * *
The feast at Hogwarts was much subdued the night of September 1st. Only those at the Slytherin table still laughed loudly. Even those who had little or no idea of what had happened were silent, concluding that it must have been something terrible to cast such a pall over the assembly. After all of the newest first years had been sorted, Headmaster Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat. All in the hall -- even those at the Slytherin table -- waited expectantly for his message.
"Welcome, to another year at Hogwarts," he said, rather dully. "I am afraid that at the opening of this year we must begin with some . truly terrible news."
He waited a moment, and the hall became deathly silent.
"One student, that many of you know personally and many others by sight, has been taken from our midst in a terrible accident that is believed to be connected to You-Know-Who -- Lord Voldemort." A whisper ran through the assembly as he spoke the name of the Dark Lord, but soon subsided as Dumbledore continued. "That student," he said quite heavily, "Is Harry Potter."
An uproar ensued. Questions were thrown at the Headmaster from the tables of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff; boos and jeers from Slytherin. "What happened?" was the popular query of students to their schoolmates. "I don't know," was the most common answer.
Dumbledore raised his hands for silence; the chatter died away as quickly as it had come. "We are all deeply hurt by the disappearance of Mr. Potter, whether or not we knew him directly. But I believe that the most affected of all of us are Mr. Ronald Weasley and his family and Hermione Granger, along with the rest of the Gryffindors and others who knew Harry well. And now --" He sighed heavily and waved a hand, after which gesture the plates filled with all manner of food. "Let us eat."
* * *
One month and twenty days after term began, on October twentieth, preparations for the Halloween Feast were already underway. A flurry of activity existed perpetually in the teacher's own living quarters, while the students all excitedly discussed the rumors flying around the school about what Professor Dumbledore had done to ensure the success of the evening. A popular rumor was that he had booked a trio of dancing skeletons; another was that he had invited five singers -- the Wily Witches -- from WRS, a popular wizarding radio station, and that the Witches had accepted the invitation and were scheduled to sing a large selection of their greatest hits (including "Poisonous Love" and "Under the Full Moon, You Transform for Me").
Even the Weasley children and Hermione began to creep out of their shells of misery to watch the festive preparations going on in the dormitories and the great hall. One afternoon Ron even commented on how much he hoped the Wily Witches rumor was true.
One Tuesday afternoon as Ron and Hermione walked together, separated from the other second years by a web of sorrow, Nearly Headless Nick glided through the walls nearby, muttering angrily and holding a transparent envelope in one hand and an equally ghostlike letter in the other.
"You look troubled, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," he said when he saw them, tucking the letter into the envelope and the envelope into his doublet.
"So do you," said Ron.
"A matter of no importance.it's not as thought I really wanted to join.thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements'--"
In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.
"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"
"Oh -- yes," said Hermione, obviously supposed to agree. Ron nodded.
"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However --"
Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:
"'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"
Fuming, Nick stuffed the letter away.
"I wish there was something we could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Hermione said suddenly.
"Yeah," Ron added. "Write them a letter or -- or something."
"But.." Nick hesitated, and then continued, his voice gaining enthusiasm. "There is something you could do! Would I be asking too much -- but no, you wouldn't want --"
"What?" Ron asked.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nick, looking dignified. "I would be honored if the two of you would attend the party I'm holding down in one of the roomier dungeons. But.I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" he struggled to keep his face from falling and failed.
"No!" said Ron and Hermione together. "We'll come," Hermione added. "But how would it help you..?"
"Do you -- do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
"Of course," Ron said. "Sure," Hermione answered at the same time.
Nearly Headless Nick beamed at them.
* * *
"You what?" Fred asked in amazement later that night in the Gryffindor Common Room, after Ron had explained about Nick's five hundredth deathday party.
"We.said we'd go," said Ron, embarrassed now.
"To the deathday party," Hermione supplied. "Nearly Headless Nick's.."
"I know that," Fred said irritably. "But why did you say you'd go?"
"Er.."
Fred threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, whatever you want. But you'll miss the school feast, and the Wily Witches or the skeletons -- whichever Dumbledore picks.."
Ron mumbled something unintelligible and fled to the boy's dormitory. Hermione glared severely at Fred. "You shouldn't have made him mad," she said angrily. "Have you ever thought of what he's going through?" With this, she, too turned on her heel and ran up the stairs to her dormitory.