Chapter 6: The Deathday Party
Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry hadn't seen John for a while at all. While he knew John could take care of himself, he was still getting concerned for his friend… even though John had a fiery side to him that terrifies Harry. Harry was currently heading to the Great Hall for supper, but that's when Ritchie, Phoebe, and Anne appeared. They had concern etched on their faces. Ritchie was now a 4th year, so he wasn't nearly as terrified by John as the others. He didn't see John get engulfed, but the story itself made John seem like a monster. However, Ritchie wasn't one to abandon friends without a good reason.
"Hey, Harry," Anne and Phoebe said in unison. Ritchie just nodded a hello as he and Harry had never actually met other than when passing each other in the corridors towards classes.
"Hey Anne," Harry returned, "Hey Phoebe."
"Have you seen John?" Anne asked worried.
"No," Harry shook his head, "I haven't seen him since he skipped lunch."
"Hello all," said a familiar voice from nearby. They turned to see Sir Nicholas aka Nearly Headless Nick floating by.
"Hello Sir Nicholas," Harry replied.
"Have you seen John Sir Nick?" Ritchie asked hoping the ghost would know.
"He was in the Observatory last I saw him," Sir Nicholas replied, "but he didn't see me. He was too busy staring over the Hogwarts' grounds."
"Thanks Sir Nick," Anne said graciously.
Sir Nicholas nodded once before continuing his floating path aimlessly through the corridor.
"I'll go find him," Harry said, "You three head to the Great Hall. I'm not feeling like having supper anyway tonight."
Anne and Phoebe looked like they were about to object, but Ritchie spoke up first.
"Thank you Harry," Ritchie said, "come on girls."
The girls reluctantly followed Ritchie, but as Phoebe accidentally bumped into Harry's arm she froze in place. Harry didn't notice as he was going in a direction away from the Great Hall and towards where he believed the Observatory to be. Neither did Anne or Ritchie.
Phoebe stared blankly as she saw black and white images speed through her mind. She saw Harry and ginny dead on the shore of a pond of some sort. Harry was holding a sword with red gems in the tips of the handguards and in the pommel. She also saw something big dead in the pond and a figure walking away from the bodies. There were also statues of snakes facing each other along a hallway.
"Phoebe!" Anne said realizing Phoebe wasn't with her and Ritchie. She and Ritchie both hurried back to Phoebe just in time for her to snap back to the present.
"Are you okay?" Ritchie asked concerned kneeling down next to her.
"Oh no…" Phoebe said, "We have to warn them!"
Without explaining, she hurried after Harry who had already left the area. Anne and Ritchie looked at each other worried once before rushing to catch up to Phoebe.
A lot of minutes later, with Harry…
Harry was beginning to get annoyed, because he couldn't figure out how to find the Observatory. Doesn't help that he hasn't been up there yet. Eventually, he heard the sound of feet approaching down the next corner. Which is what prompted Harry to see if its a teacher he could ask for help. However, the person he saw wasn't a teacher. In fact, it was John.
"There you are!" Harry said in relief walking towards John, "Where have you been all day?!"
John was silent for a minute before he sighed deciding to answer Harry.
"I was just wandering around on my own for the second half of the day," John admitted, "I have only just decided to head down to the Great Hall for supper. If everyone is afraid of me, then I'll use it to my advantage."
"Well," Harry said slowly slightly unnerved by John's last sentence, "you've probably already missed supper."
John just grunted in response as he had nothing to say. After a while, they began heading back down the hallway in silence. Once they got to the midway point between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms, they suddenly stopped as they both heard something odd. It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.
"Come… come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…"
"What?" they both said loudly.
"You heard that too?" they asked each other in unison anime style.
"Yes!" they responded to each other again in anime style.
"Okay," John said narrowing his eyes, "something is definitely not right with the school tonight."
"Agreed," Harry nodded.
"I say we investigate it," John said.
"I'd rather we head to our dormitories and forget about it," Harry disagreed now denying what he heard was real, "besides we're probably just so tired that we're hearing things."
Before John could respond, Harry walked off now that he knew where he was. With a grumble, John headed to the Ravenclaw common room as he didn't really want to investigate that unnerving whisper on his own.
It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Harry pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and just lay there quietly as he kept thinking about what he and John heard that night.
Later in the year…
October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud. Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.
As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "…don't fulfill their requirements… half an inch, if that…"
"Hello, Nick," said Harry.
"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.
"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.
"So do you," said Harry.
"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance… It's not as though 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 Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.
"I mean," Nick continued, "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, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.
"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."
Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So… what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"
"No," said Harry, "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly…"
The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.
"You'd better get out of here, Harry," said Nick quickly, "Filch isn't in a good mood… he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place…"
"Right," said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.
"Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's Quidditch robes, "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"
So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.
Harry had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.
Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.
"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… I've had enough of it… make an example… where's the form … yes…"
He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.
"Name… Harry Potter. Crime…" Filch muttered as he wrote on the parchment.
"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry incredulously.
"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose.
"Crime… befouling the castle… suggested sentence…" Filch muttered as he continued writing. As he dabbed at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry, who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.
But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! and Filch was sent flying away from his desk into his wall. Harry turned to see who had attacked Filch, and saw John standing there with his wand raised.
"You just attacked Filch!" Harry exclaimed shocked.
"Aye," John said as he gestured with his wand, "now get behind me, unless you want to forget what happened to you in the last few hours."
Realizing what John was about to do, Harry hurried out of the way till he was standing behind John. Filch on the other hand was getting up onto his feet with an enraged expression.
"I'll see to it that you're expelled freak!" Filch snarled as snot dripped from his nose into his mouth and onto the floor.
"I highly doubt that," John replied dryly.
"Obliviate!" John yelled sending a green flash of light into Filch's face. As the spell erased enough memory for him to forget about Harry's transgression John pointed at the parchment Filch was writing on and said, "Accio!"
As soon as the parchment was in John's hands, he and Harry hurried away from the office. Of course, Mrs. Norris was going to remember everything. However, John had a contingency for that. He had dropped a small item onto the floor which will cause Mrs. Norris to forget hopefully the same stuff Filch was currently getting erased from his mind. That is, if she sniffs it.
"Harry!" Nearly Headless Nick said, "Did John get to you in time?! I mean, in time for him to save you from Filch's wrath?"
"I'm standing right here you dolt," John said narrowing his eyes.
"Yes," Harry replied, "I assume you told him of my predicament?"
John's eye twitched at the fact that they were talking like he wasn't there even though he was… It was quite rude. Quite rude indeed.
"Yes," Nick confirmed, "I felt so bad for holding you up that I-"
"OI!" John shouted getting their attention, "Stop talking as if I'm not here!"
"Oh," Nick said paling(Is that even possible for a ghost?) as even he had heard the story of John's fiery temper, "sorry."
"Sorry," Harry said also nervous that John will combust again. Fortunately, John didn't.
They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.
"Is there anything I can do for the either of you?" Harry asked looking between the two, "as a thank you for helping me out?"
Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He wished he hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower.
There is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly, "Harry… would I be asking too much… but no, you wouldn't want…"
"What is it?" said Harry.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this, "Right."
"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons," Nick explained, "Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. All of your friends would be most welcome, too, of course… but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?"
He watched Harry on tenterhooks.
"No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come-"
"I'm not exactly welcome in the Great Hall during mealtime," John sighed, "so I guess I'll come as well… but don't expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows. I'd rather be elsewhere."
"My dear boys! Harry Potter and John Constantine the youngest exorcist alive, at my deathday party! And…" Nick said before hesitating.
"Do you think either of you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?" Nick asked excited.
"Of… of course," said Harry.
"No," John said bluntly.
Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.
Later, at the Gryffindor common room…
"A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room, "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those… it'll be fascinating!"
"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy, "Sounds dead depressing to me…"
"Couldn't have said it better myself," John said appearing out of emerald flames in the fireplace now wearing his casual clothes that he wore before coming to Hogwarts.
"Why aren't you wearing your school robes?" Hermione asked raising an eyebrow.
"I don't feel like wearing them," John said, "I always feel more myself when I'm wearing my own clothes. The school robes… make me feel like someone else. Right now… I need to feel like myself."
"I guess…" Hermione said slowly, "that makes sense."
"Oh," John said realizing something, "Where's Chas? I haven't seen him at all this year."
"John's going to be arriving after christmas," Hermione explained, "Apparently, another relative had died recently and he has to stay in America for half the year while his guardian squares things away."
Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now
smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.
Before any further conversation could happen the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosion.
"You monsters!" exclaimed a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Gryffindor hurrying over to the Salamander after using an immobilizing charm. As he used his wand to remove the firecracker from inside the salamander and extinguish it he held out his hand to the lizard and grabbed it gently.
"It's alright," the boy said as he did his best to calm the terrified creature, "I won't let anybody hurt you again."
They all watched him put his wand away before heading up to the boys' dorm after grabbing a book he had dropped when he ran to rescue the salamander. The book's title was Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. The boy was clearly a fan of Newt Scamander, and follows Newt's path as much as possible.
By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.
"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily, "You said you'd go to the deathday party."
So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons. On the way, they met up with John who was wearing his casual clothes that he wore when he visited them in the Gryffindor common room.
The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. John was the only one who didn't seem to be affected. Harry suspected that had something to do with John's fiery personality. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
"My dear friends," he said mournfully, "Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…"
He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.
It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.
"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet.
"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.
"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly, "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle…"
"Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly.
"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione.
"She haunts a toilet?" Harry asked skeptical.
"I've seen odder," John said, "I once met a ghost that haunted the inside of a peanut butter jar."
"That guy's my cousin!" exclaimed a frizzy haired ghost from nearby in a german accent. He also happened to look like Albert Einstein, "How is the whole nutter?"
"Nuttier than almond pie," John replied, "and why do you look like Albert Einstein?"
"Ach!" the german ghost replied, "I am Albert Einstein."
"Albert Einstein was a mathematician and an physicist," Hermione said skeptically.
"Indeed I was," Albert agreed, "I just had the unfortunate fate of being forbidden from passing on to the other side because of how I died."
"I thought it was a abdominal aortic aneurysm," John said confused.
"It was," Einstein admitted, "but it was created by magical means. Not sure what exactly, but the Grim Reaper himself told me why I can't move on to the other side. Now if you excuse me, there is an impressionable young lady with glasses in pigtails floating on her own. I must make her feel better."
"Einstein was a player?" Hermione and John asked in unison with equal confusion.
"Look at those two," Ron muttered to Harry, "they're like a match made in heaven."
However, it wasn't low enough to keep John and Hermione from going red in the face.
"Anyway," Hermione said getting them back on the original topic, "Myrtle's toilet has been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you-"
"Look, food!" said Ron.
"I wouldn't-" John began but the other three ignored him.
On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a lab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington
Died 31st October, 1492
Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.
"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.
"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.
"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.
"If they can exhale and what not," John said as he made some movements with his hands causing a golden mystical circle to appear in his hands, "then they should be able to cook their own ghostly food and eat it. However, till then… let's do this for them."
He then spread his arms wide and the mystical circle enveloped the food. As soon as the mystical circle vanished the food became ghostly and looked like it would should it not be rotten. Fortunately, the disgusting smell vanished as well.
"Wow," Hermione said impressed, "Even though the living started treating you like a freak, you're kindness hasn't vanished."
"I'm doing this to get the stench out of my nose," John said before he looked away to hide a slight blush as he thought and I kinda want to get in the Ravenclaw ghost's good graces again because she's very beautiful and attractive… for a ghost.
As they turned around, a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.
"Hello Geeves," Harry said cautiously.
Unlike the ghosts around them, Geeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.
"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
"No thanks," said Hermione.
"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Geeves, his eyes dancing, "Rude you was about poor Myrtle."
He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"
"Oh, no, Geeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically, "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her… er, hello, Myrtle."
The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
"What?" she asked sulkily.
"How are you, Myrtle?" asked Hermione in a falsely bright voice, "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."
Myrtle sniffed.
"Miss Granger was just talking about you-" said Geeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.
"Just saying… saying… how nice you look tonight," interrupted Hermione, glaring at Geeves.
Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.
"You're making fun of me," she decided, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.
"No… honestly… didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" tried Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.
"Oh, yeah," Hurry lied.
"She did," Ron also lied.
"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped not believing them, tears now flooding down her face, while Geeves chuckled happily over her shoulder, "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"
"You've forgotten pimply," Geeves hissed in her ear.
Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Geeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply! Pimply!"
"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.
Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.
"Enjoying yourselves?" Nick asked.
"Oh, yes," they lied.
"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly, "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent… It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra…"
The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.
"Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.
Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.
The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd(everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.
"Nick!" he roared, "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"
He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.
"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.
"Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron,Hermione, and John and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again(the crowd howled with laughter).
"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.
"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor, "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say… look at the fellow…"
"This is all because he's nearly headless," John said rolling his eyes, "and nobody here thought to finish the beheading to end his undoubtedly ongoing attempts to join your club?"
"John," Hermione said with a raised eye, "nick's a ghost… he's stuck in the condition he was when he died. Also, I highly doubt a ghosts' head can be removed at all."
"Ghosts can touch other ghosts," John reasoned, "so it stands to reason that a ghostly axe or sword can finish the job. Not as if he'll die again, right?"
"It's not just the fact he's nearly headless," Patrick said, "It's his scare factor that is preventing him from joining the Headless Hunt."
"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very… frightening and… er…"
"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head, "Bet he asked you to say that!"
"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.
"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow…" began Nick.
But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.
"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.
"Let's go," Harry agreed.
They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.
"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.
And then Harry and John heard it.
"… rip… tear… kill…"
It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice they had heard after Harry had found John and they had begun their way back to the Great Hall.
They stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all their might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
"Harry, John what're you-" began Hermione concerned and confused.
"It's that voice again," John muttered.
"Shut up a minute," Harry said straining to hear the voice.
"… soo hungry… for so long…"
"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching them.
"… kill… time to kill…"
The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away… moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped Harry and John as they stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?
"This way!" John shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind Harry.
"John, Harry, what're we —"
"SHH!"
Harry and John strained their ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: "… I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!"
Harry's stomach lurched while John's expression grew grimmer than it already was.
"It's going to kill someone!" Harry shouted, and ignoring Ron's and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time past John, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps.
Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.
"Harry, John, what was that all about?" panted Ron, wiping sweat off his face, "I couldn't hear anything…"
But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.
"Look!" Hermione cried out.
Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN
OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
"What's that thing… hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.
As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped… there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash.
Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.
For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."
"Shouldn't we try and help-" Harry began awkwardly.
"Trust me," said John grimly, "We don't want to be found here."
But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.
I have a reason for Phoebe's premonition. as always, please kudos the story if you like it, follow the story if you want more updates, and leave kind reviews stating your opinions or ask your useful kind questions.