Hilda was in no better mood the next day. As she left the Great Hall after breakfast she ran into Sir Nicholas by the staircase. "Miss Dahl, are you alright?" the ghost asked, floating down to be eye-level with the young Gryffindor. As he was a few heads taller than Hilda (no pun intended), it meant sinking through the floor up to his knees.

"I'm fine, Sir Nicholas," Hilda lied. "I'm just going through a rough time."

"Well, I do hope you feel better soon," Sir Nicholas replied. "You're looking gloomier than the Grey Lady on her deathday."

"Deathday?" Hilda asked, her curiosity momentarily lifting her from the cloud of her depression. "What's that?"

"It's the day of one's death. We ghosts tend to celebrate it in lieu of our birthdays, as once you've kicked the proverbial bucket, it takes on a great deal more significance."

"So, what do you do to celebrate?"

Sir Nicholas beamed. "If you'd like, you can see for yourself. My deathday happens to be this All Hallow's Eve. It's a rather big one, the Big Five-Oh-Oh. Some friends and I are going to have a little party down in the school dungeons during the feast. You're welcome to attend."

Hilda smiled. "That sounds very interesting, Sir Nicholas. Thank you."

"No trouble at all, my girl. Do bring friends if you wish—I just invited Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger as well, so the more the merrier. Well, I must be off: I have to discuss catering with the Fat Friar. Ta!" With that, he sunk through the floor, tipping his head in farewell.

The night of the Halloween feast, Frida and David cornered Hilda outside of the Gryffindor dormitory.

"Hilda, this is getting absurd," Frida said, putting herself between Hilda and the portrait. "You need to stop hiding away from everyone—it's not healthy."

"We miss hanging out with you," David said. "Also, Frida's gone a bit mental with exam preparations, and I need someone to share her attention."

"Don't be melodramatic, David," Frida said, scowling.

"She's made schedules and study guides. Look at this," David pulled a massive stack of parchments from his school bag. "This is just for Potions, and some of these questions cover material we don't learn until the second year!"

"You'll thank me in May, David, so stop complaining. Anyway, I've penciled in this night as an official study break." Frida grabbed Hilda by the hand and started marching her down the staircase. "Sir Nicholas told us about the party. You are attending it with us and you will enjoy yourself and cheer up-no buts!"

"Wait, can I at least get Alfur?" Hilda asked, struggling to get free.

"Fine, but we're coming into your dormitory with you, in case you try to lock us out."

"Like I'd do that."

Liar.

Hilda was glad she'd chosen to wear her customary sweater and scarf to the party. The dungeon Sir Nicholas had chosen for the night's 'festivities' were damp and clammy, and the cold emanating from the many ghosts in attendance dropped the temperature so low that drops of water falling off the ceiling turned into icicles mid-fall.

"I'll admit, I was interested when you first told me," Alfur said between uncontrollable shivers. "But being down here, I'm starting to have second thoughts."

"Too late now," Hilda whispered.

"This is not what I imagined it would be like," David said, teeth chattering like castanets.

"It's a party for ghosts, David," Frida replied, rolling her eyes. "What did you expect?"

"Miss Dahl and friends! So glad you could make it!" Sir Nicholas drifted over to the three first-years, beaming "Quite the turnout, eh? What do you think so far."

"We love the…atmosphere," Hilda said hurriedly. "It's very…spine-tingling."

"And bone-chilling!" David added.

"Excellent, I must give my compliments to the Bloody Baron during my speech. He was trying to go for a 'haunted abattoir' aesthetic."

"He pulled it off," David said, breath crystallizing as he exhaled. "It's terrible."

"Thank you, Mr. Andersen. That's high praise."

Hilda scanned the room and caught sight of Harry, Ron and Hermione through the transparent guests. They were standing over by the buffet, looking just as uncomfortable as Hilda-perhaps even more so." Hilda dragged David and Frida across the room and greeted them.

"Blimey, you got roped into this too?" Ron asked. "To think, upstairs there's all the food you can eat, while down here we just have this spoiled birthday cake."

"I think it's pretty cool," Hilda admitted. "I've never seen so many ghosts in one place before."

"Well, it's colder than a haunted abattoir down here," Hermione remarked, rubbing her arms.

"Sir Nicholas will be pleased to hear that," Frida said, smiling.

"What's that little clicking sound coming from your shoulder?" Ron asked.

"That's Alfur," Harry answered. "Hilda's invisible elf friend. Nice sweater, Alfur."

Alfur stopped his teeth from chattering long enough to reply. "Thanks, it's cat wool."

"...Oh."

Ron looked over at Harry in surprise. "You can see him?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I signed the paperwork."

"What paperwork?" Hermione asked.

Alfur sighed. "I'll draft up two extra contracts for you to sign tomorrow."

As Ron and Hermione began to question Alfur on elf life and culture, Hilda leaned in close to Harry's ear. "Have you heard the voice again?"

Harry nodded, his demeanor turning even more uneasy. "Twice, but always from a distance. Have you spoken to Malfoy yet?"

Hilda was about to attempt to dodge the question when the appearance of a half-dozen ghostly riders on horseback made it unnecessary. The riders formed a circle, riding around the walls, whooping and hollering. Hilda noticed that all of the riders were decapitated, their laughing heads cradled under their arms.

"Oh, dear," the Fat Friar floated over to the figuratively 'warm' guests. "Who invited the Headless Hunt?"

"Nick sure didn't," the Bloody Baron remarked, his customary scowl deeper than usual. "He despises them."

"Why's that?" Hilda asked.

"The Headless Hunt is a very exclusive group to gain membership to, Miss Dahl," the Fat Friar explained. "You have to have been decapitated and an excellent huntsman to be accepted. Sir Nicholas is one-and-seven-eighths of those things, unfortunately, so they've consistently denied him a spot. Worse, they won't stop rubbing it in, which is just not sporting, ironically."

"Patrick!" If Sir Nicholas was still corporeal, he would have stomped across the room towards the lead horseman. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"First off, it's Sir Patrick," the headless ghost said, dismounting from his mare and casually drifting over to Sir Nicholas, "I heard there was a party, and thought it could use the Hunt's attendance. Let's face it, before I got here, this soiree looked positively..." he paused, reaching over with his free hand to stroke his Van Dyke beard. "...dead."

"You're not welcome, Sir Patrick."

"Oh, come now, Nearly-Nicked, don't be so sore. As we have said before, a half-inch of skin is all that prevents us from accepting you into our organization. I'm sorry for the trouble, but I don't make the rules."

"Yes, you do," Sir Nicholas replied, grinding his teeth. "You founded the club. You made the rules."

"And it would hardly do to change the rules after five-hundred years of tradition. By the way, I brought you something," Sir Patrick opened a flap on his horse's saddle and removed a small fish knife. "Here, I know you can't interact with objects, but maybe through sheer force of will you can finish the job good ole' Queen Bess started."

"Hey!" Hilda stormed through the crowd, resisting the urge to gasp as she passed through several ghosts too slow to clear a path. "Sir Nicholas said you aren't wanted. Why don't you stop ruining his party and leave?"

Sir Patrick laughed. "Well well, girly, such fire. What could you possibly do to convince me to leave?"

Hilda grinned. "I could challenge you to a wrestling match."

Sir Patrick was so surprised his body lost grip on his head. "Ow!" Sir Patrick cried, skull bouncing across the floor to rest at Hilda's feet. "A wrestling match, you say? Trolheim rules, I imagine? This should be quite entertaining. Okay, I'll bite. If you and your two tag-ins defeat me, I and my associates will take our leave. If we win…"

"You'll take our souls?" David asked nervously.

Sir Patrick gave the Hufflepuff a confused look. "Heavens, no. That would be terrible. I was going to say that if I win, you leave."

"Oh, fine. Deal."

"Right, we'll start just as soon as my idiot body locates my head. Oi! Over here! No, you're going the wrong bloody way! Follow my voice! Oh, and he just walked through the wall." Sir Patrick rolled his eyes and looked back to Hilda. "You know, Sir Nicholas can moan all he wants about being nearly-headless, but the full experience is no bed of roses."

"Hilda, do you think we have a chance?" Frida asked.

Hilda nodded. "We've done it before."

"And lost," David pointed out.

"You've wrestled a ghost before?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

"It's no big deal," Hilda waved it off. "We were trying to get a lost book back. We'll win, Frida. I've been practicing."

"With who?" Hermione asked.

"Peeves," Hilda replied. "I've beaten him the last six times in a row."

"That explains why he hasn't been tormenting us lately," Frida mused.

"I think he's too embarrassed to show his face."

"How could we lose?" David asked as the six students trudged up the dungeon steps.

"Well, you did try and put Sir Patrick in a headlock," Ron said.

"A solid tactic."

"Not if your opponent has no head," Alfur pointed out.

"Fair point. Hilda, are you disappointed?"

Hilda laughed. "Disappointed? That was the most fun I've had in weeks."

Frida smiled. "I'm glad to see you're acting like yourself again."

Hilda was about to reply when she saw Harry stop dead in his tracks, eyes wide. "What's wrong?" she asked. Then she heard the hissing.

As the six students watched open-mouthed, the wall opposite them bulged, the form behind it moving past them, the wall undulating like a snake with it. The bulge continued down the corridor, rounding a corner at the end.

"Harry," Hermione began, ending the long silence, "What was that?"

"I don't know, but did you hear what it said?" Harry asked. The other students (and Alfur) shook their heads. "It's hunting."

A second later a screeching yowl echoed through the castle. David nearly fainted in fright, Frida managing to catch him as he went into a swoon. While the rest of the group were frozen, Hilda dashed down the hall towards the source of the scream. "Hilda! Wait!" Harry shouted before taking off after her.

That was that custodian's awful cat, the Voice said as Hilda rounded a corner.

"Not you again," Hilda muttered under her breath.

"What?" Alfur asked, hanging on tight to Hilda's scarf as she cleared a fallen statue.

"N-nothing," Hilda replied.

I don't understand what we're doing, the Voice continued. That cat is at this moment probably being skinned alive, and yet we're heading towards it and certain doom. Why?

We're not going to let someone die just because we don't like them, Hilda thought back.

Is that so? What about swatting flies? We don't like them, so we kill them. I used that same line of reasoning on humans, once upon a time.

Hilda was about to reply but, upon turning the corner, the next sound to come from her mouth was a scream.

A minute later, Harry caught up. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking first at Hilda, then to the scene before them. "Oh, Merlin."

It was Mrs. Norris. The cat appeared to be frozen stiff as a board and was hanging by a rope around its tail to one of the torch sconces on the wall. Its lifeless eyes gazed at Harry and Hilda with a look of animal terror.

"What...what happened?" Harry finally asked.

"I don't know," Hilda replied. "But...the writing."

She pointed past the cat to the wall beyond. Harry splashed through the water, reading the note scrawled in what appeared to be blood.

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir BEWARE.

They became aware of footsteps, dozens of them. A crowd of students fresh from the feast rounded the corner. Their conversations died as they discovered the gruesome tableau. Dumbledore, who had been leading the procession, motioned for a Slytherin prefect to approach him. "Get the first years to their dormitories, and for Merlin's sake don't let them see this."

"What's happening?" A figure was pushing his way through the crowd.

"Argus, stay back!" Dumbledore shouted, but it was too late.

"NO!" Filch raced to Mrs. Norris, eyes brimming with tears. His gaze went from his cat's body to Harry and Hilda. "You!" He grabbed Harry around the arms, spittle flying from his lips. "You did this! I'll tear the flesh from your back!"

"Argus, get off him!" McGonagall and Sprout ran forwards, pulling the caretaker off the boy. "Mr. Potter had nothing to do with this!"

Dumbledore moved over to Harry and Hilda. "What did you see?" he asked, leaning in, his usually jovial face unexpectedly grave.

"Headmaster!" Frida, Ron, Hermione and David rounded the corner at that time. Frida momentarily faltered at the sight of Mrs. Norris. "Oh, no," she whispered. David looked on the verge of vomiting. Even Ron, whose affection for Filch's cat was nonexistent, was ashen-faced with horror.

"We heard Mrs. Norris scream," Hilda began. "And we found her like this."

"And why weren't you at the Feast?" Dumbledore asked.

"We were at Nick's deathday party," Hermione said, trying hard to focus on the headmaster and not glance over at Mrs. Norris.

"I see," the headmaster straightened himself and turned to Filch. "Argus, be calm. Mrs. Norris is alive, she is just petrified. It is a relatively easy condition to fix." He looked over at Professor Sprout. "How are the mandrakes coming along, Pomona?"

"They're still in their infancy," Sprout replied. "It won't be until spring when they're harvestable."

"I want them punished!" Filch howled, pointing to Harry and Hilda. "They did this."

"We have no proof of that, Argus," Dumbledore said.

"They know I'm a squib!"

"And Miss Dahl's mother is a squib. There is no reason for them to target Mrs. Norris. Go see Nurse Pomfrey for a sleeping draught." McGonagall led the disconsolate caretaker away as Dumbledore turned to the students. "I think it's best that all of you retired to bed. Let the professors handle the matter from here on out."

"Ha!" Draco Malfoy had pressed his way to the front of the crowd and read the message with glee. "Enemies of the heir beware! That means you, Mudbloods."

Before Harry or anyone else could stop her, Hilda had crossed over to Malfoy and dealt him a swift uppercut to the jaw.

"Oh dear," Harry heard Dumbledore mutter. "I expect to receive a few letters from Lucius for that."

Omigod, we're back again!

Hope you all enjoy this chapter. I am on the cusp of a thousand view for The Fearless First Year-always a pleasing milestone.

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