65. All Hallows' Eve

Sunrise was coming later in the morning now, and the sky was still dark at half past six. The hospital wing lamps flickered from their hooks.

"How… big is it?" I asked Poppy, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

Poppy's quill paused over her weekly report to the Ministry. "Seven weeks… about the size of a blueberry. Or your little fingertip."

I looked down at my hands in my lap, and brought my little fingertip close to my eyes, examining it.

"Have you eaten this morning?" Poppy asked.

"No," I realised aloud. Severus had left at six, to visit Nigel Brown and Andromeda at St. Mungo's, as he had done every morning since the second attack. He had reminded me then to have a bite to eat as soon as I could, rather than waiting for breakfast to start, in order to combat the nausea. But it had slipped my mind as soon as he'd gone.

Poppy sighed–my lack of responsibility for myself was quickly becoming the bane of her professional existence, as she had not hesitated to inform me–and with a wave of her wand, she filled a glass with a dark blue beverage. "Drink that," she instructed.

Anyone who has gone through Hogwarts learns to expect a bitter or vile taste from anything offered by Poppy Pomfrey. But the contents of the cup were quite innocent, containing hints of fruits and vegetables. The faint nausea which I'd felt previously ebbed as I paced up and down the hospital wing and sipped until the cup was drained, while Poppy finished her writing.

"Be sure to eat a full breakfast later. This isn't enough on its own," she reminded me as she scourgified the glass.

"Thank you," I told her. I knew I could have been doing better, and felt guilty in the face of Poppy's disappointment.

"If you're going out, bundle up," she called after me, as I left the hospital wing.

Every morning I'd been walking along the edge of the forest with Hagrid's wolves, before returning to the castle for breakfast. It was a way of settling my mind and preparing for the day's classes. Severus wouldn't have liked it, but he didn't need to know. I was allowed to have my secrets.

Properly clothed at Poppy's insistence, I walked down the hill to Hagrid's cabin. His pumpkins, the ones I'd planted in June, had grown to mammoth proportions, and dominated the majority of the garden. A low fog obscured the tops of the wooded hills, and the pines were cold and still. The sky was slowly changing to a dark blue, and a scatter of stars showed between the ash-grey clouds.

I knocked on Hagrid's front door, and heard the little wolf howling loudly within. Hagrid's heavy footsteps approached, and when he opened the door the little wolf ran out. He was not so little as he had been when I rescued him; his fur had turned a deeper grey, his paws were larger, his body lankier, and his howl deeper. He still jumped and yelped happily to greet me, though. His mother followed patiently behind, her pink tongue exposed to the cool air.

"Morning, Wilma," Hagrid greeted.

"Good morning," I replied, bending down to rub the little wolf's ears. "The pumpkins are promising!"

"Yeah, Luna's got some sort of fertiliser from Neville, and they're going to be bigger than ever! Expect some extra pies Sunday evening."

We parted ways and I took the wolves down to the forest, where we always walked. The hoots of the school owls sounded through the trees as they called to one another, finishing their night-time hunt. The little wolf panted at the sound–he was always excited when he saw the owls swooping over–but he knew not to run into the forest. It remained strictly out of bounds to students, and not even Hagrid or I had ventured inside since the attack on Nigel Brown. As the night wore off, there was a sense of dark magic coming from the depths of the forest. The little wolf seemed to pick up on it, and stayed out.

A soft breeze stirred among the treetops, and I picked up my warm cloak to keep it from dragging in the grass as I followed the wolves, who loped along at a quick pace ahead of me. I whistled when we came to the boulder which marked the bend in the trees. I always stopped here. To go further would have taken me out of sight of Hagrid's cabin, and despite what Poppy seemed to suspect, a speck of self preservation did remain somewhere in my body.

The wolves obeyed my command and stopped, rolling in the cool wet grass. I sat down on the boulder and looked up at the castle, the fog floating among the turrets of the high towers. The sky was changing more quickly now, from dark blue to hazy purple.

Again I lifted my little fingertip and inspected it.

"Wilma."

My heart stopped. For a moment I was one with the stone beneath me. Motionless. my heartbeat returned with a vengeance, and my eyes watered. I turned around, looking frantically into the trees. But there was nothing there. The sound had come from within my own mind.

My chest was aching, and I rapidly blinked my eyes, fighting to regain control of my breathing.

Nothing. I told myself. Nothing.

"Wilma."

"Oh, my god!" I moaned, overwhelmed by shock and anger. My hands flew to my hair. "Get out of my head!"

I had been at first incapable of pinning down the voice. No, not incapable. Unwilling. But as it whispered my name yet again–a soft and urgent whisper, exchanged between children at night–I was forced to admit that the voice belonged to Remus.

"You are not going to haunt me like Fred," I said out loud, as though he could hear me. My voice was tremulous and desperate.

There was a long pause, and I hated myself for straining my ears for any sign, any sound. The breeze whistled more quickly in the trees, and the clouds shifted over Hogwarts.

"Wilma."

My body bent under the weight of it, and I let myself sink into tears. The wolves made questioning sounds, and the mother rested her head over my knee, looking at me curiously.

"It's alright," I sobbed, my heart still racing. "It's alright."

A minute passed, and I got myself under control, resenting the ease with which my tears flowed. My breath steadied, and I dried my face with my sleeves. His voice would not come again.

But no sooner had I thought so than it did. The same whisper, sharp and quiet.

"Wilma."

With a growl of fury, I rose to my feet, prompting the wolves to stand back. I drew my wand. "Expecto patronum!" I cried. But my hand was too weak, and I hadn't properly taken the time to think of a memory. My wand itself seemed to be in shock.

Trembling, I recalled Christmas Eve Day in Diagon Alley. Teddy reaching out to catch the snowflakes. Remus walking up the cobbled street, tapping his son's nose, kissing my forehead.

My raven appeared obediently.

"Why am I hearing your voice in my head!" I demanded. Months of carefully contained, aggressively denied anger raged through my body like a storm of fire, and soon I was shouting and sobbing at the same time. "If you're gone, then be gone all the way! I can't do this anymore! Fuck you for going! Fuck you for leaving Teddy behind! Why were you so good to me if you were only going to leave? I hate you!" I nearly collapsed, but the words kept coming. "I can't let you go, and I still love you," I sobbed. "If you're trying to make me hear you, stop. If you're thinking about me, then just fucking come back!"

"Wilma!"

My head turned sharply at the sound of the very real voice.

It was Severus.

He must have returned from London and seen me from the path that led from Hogsmeade. I lost all access to my voice as I shattered completely into tears of shame. I hadn't been keeping my voice down whatsoever. He had heard everything.

My body was motionless from distress, except for the shaking that emanated from my belly, fuelling my sobs. But Severus didn't look angry. I had no time to decipher his expression before he strode forward and embraced me tightly, wrapping his arms around me as I spent my anguished tears into his shoulder. The sound of Remus's voice had made the world split open beneath my feet. Without Severus to hold onto, I had the impression that I would have tumbled into an inescapable abyss. I clawed at his back and he held me tighter as I sobbed and wailed with anger.

My raven cawed and disappeared. The wolves whined empathetically.

After some time, the pressure of his body and his soft repetitions of "Shh… Shh…" allowed me to breathe again.

"I'm sorry!" I pleaded, shivering.

He stroked my hair. "Don't be."

I gasped against his shoulder, an ugly sound of snot and grief coming out of me. "I could hear his voice!"

"Shh…"

I couldn't continue like this any longer. The thought of Severus having heard my outpouring of anger and lingering love for Remus was unbearable. I wanted to belong to one person alone, but I didn't. I wanted to love Severus without missing Remus, but I couldn't.

In my desperation, an idea appeared in my mind, as though with a snapping of fingers. "I want you to obliviate me."

Severus tensed. "No."

"Please!" I begged, my hysteria mounting. "I know what I want…"

But even as I spoke a tall wave of shame crashed over me. He could hear in my continued sobs that I didn't mean it, and relaxed again.

He held me until my crying was finally over. So much for a rejuvenating walk to centre my mind at the start of the day. The idea of facing classes today made me miserable.

Severus released me, his eyes guarded, his figure forbidding in his long cloak. "Let's go up," he said, without a mention of the intensity that had just passed between us. "They'll be wondering where we are."

His dark hair fluttered in the breeze as I looked up at him, wanting him to say something. To tell me it would be alright… That the voice had not been real… That he did not despise me for still loving Remus. But he did not speak a word of it, and I knew he never would.

I followed him and the wolves back towards Hagrid's cabin and the castle, but was unable to bear looking at him, even at his back. I kept my gaze on the dark grass underfoot, exhausted by my tears.

The day went on, the final Monday of October, and I did not hear Remus's voice again.

Halloween was just around the bend, and while most students were looking past it to the first Quidditch match of the year, the first years were excited and nervous for the night of the feast.

"It's practically tradition that something spooky happens," Miss Adesina said. "Isn't it?"

"You could say so," I pondered.

"Tell us!" Mr. Yarrow implored.

"Alright… Well, starting in my second year, then… A troll was set loose from the dungeon–"

"The year the Sorcerer's Stone was hidden in the school?" asked Mr. Cowan.

"Yes," I said. "In my third year…"

I looked around at their eager faces, and hesitated. I thought that perhaps I shouldn't be speaking so lightly of events which had been quite dire. But I judged that they were safely in the past. Perhaps it was right for the stories to now become fuel for their eager young imaginations.

"In my third year," I continued, "Mr. Filch's cat Mrs. Norris was the first victim of the Basilisk who lived in the Chamber of Secrets. It slid through the pipes in the school and petrified with its gaze. In my fourth, Sirius Black broke into the castle, and the next year the Goblet of Fire chose the names of the Triwizard champions after the feast was through."

Miss Adesina raised her hand and I nodded for her to speak. "Wasn't it also Halloween, the night Harry Potter's parents were murdered?"

Her tone was much less exuberant than the boys' had been, and the mood in the classroom darkened. I realised suddenly that Halloween night was likely equally upsetting for Severus as it was for Harry. It was something I'd never considered before. I would have to remember to be tender with him.

"Yes," I said. "But nothing's gone awry on Halloween in years, now."

"Yeah," said a Gryffindor boy, "but everything was going wrong on every other day."

There were scattered mumbles among the class, and I felt the need to reassure them. "I promise you that every teacher at Hogwarts is perfectly able to protect you. The castle is safe, and the feast is meant to be spooky in a fun way. There is no need to be scared."

"Does Halloween affect werewolves, Professor?" Mr. Cowan asked suddenly.

The question was posed in innocence, but earned an alarmed look from Mr. Yarrow. "Don't ask her that!"

"It's alright, Mr. Yarrow," I said. "No, nothing special happens to werewolves on Halloween. The full moon is the only thing they are forced to obey."

I sensed that the atmosphere had become a bit too dark, and changed my tone, as though telling an old ghost story, wanting to cheer the children up again.

"...But there is some truth in Halloween being the night when the veil between the spirit world and the living is at its thinnest. If you look closely, you may notice the ghosts look just slightly less ghostly than usual."

It was a joke, of course. Ghosts remained just as pale on Halloween night as on any other. But I delighted in the looks of thrilled excitement that came over the students' faces.

"Alright, I think it's time to work…"

The third years were in a very different mood. On Friday they entered the classroom looking annoyed, and muttered to each other as the last minute before class wound down.

"We've just come from Professor Trelawney's class," one of the girls explained, when I asked what the matter was. Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Apparently, the world is going to end on Halloween night."

Sniggers erupted around the classroom. Clearly this was not the first time Trelawney had warned them of some impending catastrophe.

"Professor Trelawney is prone to such predictions, as I'm sure you've noticed already," I said dismissively. I had not yet forgotten the night she'd interpreted her cards for me, and whenever I thought of them I felt a looming sense of dread. I wanted to discard it, but I couldn't. And my annoyance at Trelawney because of this made my tone quite bitter now.

I remembered how it had felt to be a student in her class, lessons so frequently interrupted by histrionics and proclamations of certain ruin. Though I had learned since my school days that some of Sybill's predictions had merit, I believed that whatever sense of foreboding had come over her in the last hour was sprung from a desire for attention, rather than a genuine stimulation of the inner eye.

The class got to work, and the warm steam rising from the cauldrons eased my mind. For an hour, as I walked among the students, advising and appraising, I felt content. The soft sounds of boiling and chopping, the focused atmosphere, the sense of purpose, the grey light coming through the windows… I could be happy doing this for a long, long time.

The thirty-first dawned rainy and grey, and soft rolls of thunder continued throughout the day. The students kept mostly to their common rooms and the library, unable to roam the grounds, and the Quidditch players from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, who would have been practising had the weather allowed it, restlessly paced through the corridors. The only thing saving the students from a completely dreary mood was the promise of the Halloween feast that night. By late morning the atmosphere in the castle had grown excited, and after lunch the Gryffindor ghost Sir Nicholas was set as a guard to ensure that no student peeked into the great hall as the staff worked to decorate it for the feast.

Severus stayed inside, helping to control the hundred live bats which had been brought up from the dungeons. I walked down through the chill rain with Luna to Hagrid's garden, to carve the pumpkins. We cast impervius on ourselves so that we wouldn't get soaked through to the bone.

We first severed the pumpkins from their giant vine, and then scooped all of the seeds and pungent guts out through holes we cut around the gnarled green stems. By the time the first pumpkin was hollow, both Luna and I could easily have climbed inside. Luna seemed to have a similar thought, and I was startled but not very much so when she hoisted herself up on the side of the pumpkin and disappeared through the hole. "It's nice," she said, her voice echoing strangely. "A damp, orange cave. Do you want to try?"

"No, thanks, Luna," I said, not bothering to hide my amusement. I took her hand when she stood up again, and helped her back to the ground. A couple of seeds had caught in her hair.

We got stuck in, setting aside three of the massive pumpkins to be delivered to the kitchens for pies, and removing the insides from the rest. Then we set about carving them, with a combination of funny and scary expressions. Luna's face was calm and sincere as she worked.

"You're an orphan, aren't you?" she said, out of the blue.

"Yes," I said.

She gave a thoughtful hum. "Do you know how your parents died?"

I thought, not for the first time, that Luna would have been quite insufferable had it not been for her good intentions and head-in-the-clouds demeanour. "They didn't," I explained. "They gave me away when I was a baby."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"My mother died when I was nine," Luna told me.

We worked for another minute, the rain pummeling the earth around us, the distant thunder rumbling. I hadn't come near the cabin or the forest since Monday, when I'd heard Remus's voice. Being here again reminded me of it, and I decided to ask Luna a question.

"Do you ever hear her voice in your head?"

Not many people would have asked Luna Lovegood whether she heard voices in order to judge their own sanity. But I'd always seen something in Luna that most of my peers couldn't, and I trusted her innocence and clarity.

"Sometimes," she said. "But mostly she just tells me my own thoughts."

That's how it had been with Fred. But with Remus's voice it had felt different. As though he were actually speaking to me; sending his voice to my mind from a great distance. I shivered when I remembered the sound of his whisper, sharp and urgent and secret.

Luna's eyebrows lifted. "Are you getting cold?"

"Just a bit," I said.

"Here– Focillo." My cloak and my body warmed up instantly, and Luna smiled. "To keep the baby warm."

I looked at her, shocked, as she continued to direct a cutting charm into the orange flesh of her pumpkin. I still had not told anybody about the pregnancy. Only Severus knew, and Poppy.

"How did you know?" I asked.

Luna shrugged. "The time of year. All Hallows' Eve. Things are easier to see." She paused her work and looked at me with her clear, earnest eyes. "I think you'll be a very good mother."

As strange as her confidence was, I took it to heart. "Thank you, Luna."

She nodded, smiling vaguely. "You're welcome."

And we continued quietly carving the gigantic pumpkins.

No sooner was the decoration of the great hall complete, the pumpkins filled with candles and made to hover near the magic ceiling, than the force of the rain doubled, the thunder crashed, and lightning began to zip across the dark sky. The castle itself shivered, seeming to condone the eerie atmosphere. The ghosts filtered in and hovered among the candles, sweeping through the air over the tables.

The students filed in at six o'clock, the younger ones staring agape at the massive pumpkins, the live bats and the ghosts, who were rarely all gathered in the great hall at the same time. The older students looked satisfied and nostalgic. This was a really proper Halloween feast, the likes of which Hogwarts had not seen in years.

Once all of the students were seated, the ghosts began their show, flying and swimming through the air above the tables, swooping down, the Bloody Baron miming slashing the first-years with his ghostly sword. When the act was finished, the students cheered, and the food appeared upon the long dark tables. Apples, corn, chicken legs, carrot cake, apple crumble, golden chocolate galleons strewn among the dishes and platters; and a great many pumpkin pies, as promised by Hagrid.

Everyone tucked in and soon the hall was full of resounding conversation, loud enough to rival the crashing sound of the thunder outside. The stone walls and rain-obscured windows were lit up intermittently by the flashes of lightning, and I looked concernedly down the table towards Severus, remembering that Halloween night many years ago, when he had climbed the stairs of the Potter house, blue lightning flickering across the walls. He caught my gaze momentarily, his eyes dark but not troubled. I gave him a small smile, and he nodded.

"Look at Trelawney," said Neville, attempting to subtly pluck a strand of corn silk from between his teeth.

I did. She was seated at the end of the table, near Professor Reed and Flitwick, and was not eating. Instead she was twisting a lock of her long, frizzy hair, and worriedly watching the lightning overhead. The thunder gave a particularly loud crash, and she startled a little, biting her lower lip. She looked very cold.

Even if I didn't believe there was anything significant about Trelawney's nervousness, seeing it made my own awareness increase. For a moment I thought I heard Hagrid's wolves howling in the distance. I must have imagined it. I couldn't have possibly heard their howls over the sounds of the students and the storm…

But the momentary impression, even if imagined, made something suddenly feel wrong.

I scanned the faces of the students, searching for some problem, but everyone was happily eating. I only realised, as I half-listened to Neville and Favre discussing the merits of the apple crumble, that it was not a matter of who was there, but who was not.

Carefully I let my eyes run up and down the length of the Gryffindor table. Once, and then again.

No Dennis Creevey.

A feeling of pity and empathy entered my body. I supposed the weather had put him in a bad mood, and he'd not wanted to join in the feasting. Nobody had stopped him from lingering somewhere in the castle on his own because he was a prefect. I understood this desire for solitude. I had felt it many times, and knew how annoyed I became when someone tried to intervene. But I felt that I knew Dennis well enough to do so. I wanted to go and find him, and convince him–or at least invite him–to join us all in the great hall. Perhaps to sit under the candlelight and the pumpkins, and to listen to Sir Nicholas's worn-out stories, would help him to forget his grief.

I patted my mouth politely with my serviette, and stood from the table. "Where are you going?" Neville asked.

"To find Dennis Creevey," I said. "He's not shown up."

Neville's eyes searched the Gryffindor table. "You're right," he observed. "That's strange."

Severus looked over with furrowed eyebrows when he saw me stand. I mouthed, I'm alright to him, not desiring to be followed. This needed to remain between myself and Mr. Creevey. Severus nodded, and I walked unhindered out of the hall, largely unnoticed by the feasting students.

The entryway was cold, and the effect of the thunder and lightning was more menacing than in the warmth and light of the great hall. The stone walls trembled, and the light flared, cold and irregular, from the great window at the top of the stairs. I drew my wand, which seemed to buzz with the energy of the storm, and pointed it up the grand staircase. "Accio Map!" I called. It was more than likely that Dennis was simply in his dormitory, but I didn't want to waste time if he happened to be in some hidden place elsewhere in the castle. Perhaps in the tiny nook which overlooked the transfiguration courtyard.

I only had to wait a minute before the old folded parchment soared down the stairs and into my hand. I tapped my wand to the crease. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The ink spread over the parchment, the great hall full of tiny labelled footprints. I saw myself, standing in the entryway alone. But the rest of the castle was completely empty. Perhaps he'd gone into the Room of Requirement?

Then I saw it. Dennis Creevey. Two tiny marks, headed past the Whomping Willow towards the Forbidden Forest.

Cold adrenaline flooded me, and a dreadful comprehension. My previous assumption that he was simply seeking a few hours of solitude seemed foolish now. There was only one reason why he would be outside in this storm, at this time of night, when he knew he shouldn't have been. Only one reason to be headed for the forest.

One of the creatures.

Leaving caution and reason behind, I set off at a desperate run down the corridor, racing towards the exit which led to the hill to Hagrid's cabin. Paintings muttered loudly as I passed, but I paid them no heed. I reached the courtyard and sprinted out into the storm.

I saw him from the top of the hill, his robes and hair drenched, his body deathly still as he stared into the trees. I could hear the wolves now, howling from inside Hagrid's cabin. The creature was well concealed within the forest, but I knew without a doubt that Dennis was seeing his brother Colin. Colin Creevey, who had been a small boy even at the time of his death, and would forever remain small. Blond hair, bright eyes and an incessant smile.

"MR. CREEVEY!" I shouted, at the top of my lungs. But he was much too far away, and my voice couldn't carry over the deafening rain. Long, dangerous fingers of lightning stroked the sky, and the thunder boomed. Dennis Creevey walked forward and disappeared among the tall black trees.

NOTE

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