"No, absolutely not!" Augustus Blackwood's voice echoed through the drafty corridor outside the Great Hall. "You can't just enchant the suits of armor to do the Monster Mash!"
Amanda Chen rolled her eyes, clutching her proposal parchment. "It's just a bit of fun, Blackwood. Halloween's supposed to be—"
"Halloween," he cut in, jabbing a finger at the parchment, "is a sacred magical tradition. Not some excuse for your house to turn everything into a circus!"
Sarah McKinnon, the Ravenclaw prefect, looked up from her thick tome of Halloween histories. "Actually, medieval wizarding celebrations often included enchanted performances. Though admittedly, not quite like—"
"Nobody asked you, McKinnon!" both Amanda and Augustus snapped, then stared at each other in surprise at their synchronization.
Professor McGonagall's approaching footsteps silenced them all. She looked between the arguing prefects, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I assume this is about the Halloween celebrations?"
The annual Halloween feast had always been a highlight at Hogwarts, but this year McGonagall had announced something different – each house would contribute a piece of magical heritage to the celebration. It was meant to promote unity. So far, it had achieved the opposite.
"Professor," Blackwood started, straightening his green and silver tie, "Lumina house wants to—"
"To completely disregard centuries of tradition!" Sarah interrupted, brandishing her book. "We've been researching historical Halloween customs, and—"
"Oh, because dusty old books are so much better than—"
"Enough!" McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip. "My office. All of you. Now."
The walk to the Headmistress's office felt endless. Portraits whispered as they passed, and even Peeves had the sense to stay quiet, though he did blow a raspberry at Blackwood when McGonagall wasn't looking.
Inside, McGonagall conjured chairs for the prefects while various former headmasters peered down from their frames with interest. Dumbledore's portrait was pretending to sleep, though a slight smile played at his painted lips.
"This celebration," McGonagall began, removing her glasses to polish them, "was meant to showcase the strengths of each house. Instead, it's devolved into petty squabbling." She replaced her glasses, fixing each student with a stern look. "Perhaps I should cancel it altogether?"
"No!" They protested in unison, then glanced at each other in surprise.
"Then work together. Find compromise. Show me that five houses can coexist without bringing this castle down around our ears." She sighed. "Dismissed."
Outside the office, an awkward silence fell. Finally, Amanda spoke. "Look, maybe we got carried away with the dancing armor idea..."
"You think?" Blackwood snorted, but there was less venom in it than before.
Sarah clutched her book closer. "We could... combine ideas? The historical research might actually support some creative interpretations..."
Back in their common rooms, each house tackled the challenge differently. The Hufflepuff basement was a flurry of activity, smelling of pumpkin and spice as students tested traditional recipes passed down through generations.
"No, no, the cauldron cakes need more snap!" Susan Bones instructed a first-year. "My gran always says you should hear them singing before they're done."
"Singing?" the first-year asked nervously, watching his cauldron cake hum an off-key tune.
"Well, not literally," Susan laughed, then paused as the cake hit a particularly sour note. "Usually."
In Ravenclaw Tower, dozens of books floated through the air as students cross-referenced Halloween customs. "Did you know ancient wizards used to carve runes into turnips instead of pumpkins?" a third-year announced excitedly, nearly walking into a wall while reading.
"Yes, Thomas, you've told us six times," his housemate replied, deftly steering him away from another collision.
The Gryffindor common room rang with practice duels as students prepared demonstrations of traditional protective magic. "Watch the tapestries!" someone yelled as sparks flew. "McGonagall will have our heads if we burn another one!"
"That was one time!" protested a sixth-year, though he did adjust his aim away from the wall hangings.
Slytherin's dungeon common room was unusually quiet, students working meticulously on complex ward patterns. Blackwood supervised, occasionally correcting a rune or adjusting a wand movement. "Precision," he reminded them. "These wards have protected wizarding families for centuries."
"And they're dead boring," muttered a third-year, earning a glare from Augustus.
Meanwhile, in Lumina's common room, the mood was subdued. The Sorting Hat watched from its perch as students sprawled across enchanted cushions, brainstorming.
"Maybe we're thinking about this wrong," Marcus Cooper said suddenly, looking up from his parchment. "Instead of changing traditions, what if we found a way to help people understand them better?"
The hat's brim curved in what might have been a smile. "Now that," it said, "is actual innovation."
As Halloween approached, the castle buzzed with preparation. Strange sounds echoed from the Great Hall as each house worked on their contribution in secret. Several mishaps kept Madam Pomfrey busy – including an incident with Gryffindor's protective charms that left three students speaking in medieval English for a day.
"Forsooth," one of them complained in the hospital wing, "this most vexing enchantment doth persist!"
"At least it's not like last year," Madam Pomfrey sighed, administering the antidote. "Remember the Great Pumpkin Rebellion?"
The evening of Halloween arrived crisp and clear, with bats swooping against a star-filled sky. Students filed into the Great Hall, gasping at the transformed space. The traditional floating pumpkins remained, but now they were joined by centuries of magical history brought to life.
Slytherin's ancient wards shimmered like gossamer curtains, each one telling a story of protection and preservation. "These are the same spells that kept our ancestors safe during the witch hunts," Blackwood explained proudly to a group of fascinated first-years.
A young Hufflepuff raised her hand. "But how do they actually work?"
Before Blackwood could respond with his usual dismissive tone, he caught McGonagall's eye and sighed. "Well... come here, I'll show you the wand movement."
Ravenclaw's contribution revealed itself in ethereal displays of Halloween celebrations through the ages, researched down to the smallest detail. Even the ghosts stopped to admire the accuracy of historical events they'd witnessed firsthand.
"That's exactly how the Great Feast of 1347 looked!" Nearly Headless Nick exclaimed. "Though perhaps with a bit less plague..."
Hufflepuff's feast was a journey through magical culture, each dish prepared according to time-honored recipes. The tables groaned under the weight of centuries-old delicacies, each with its own story to tell.
"The treacle tart," Nick sighed wistfully, "smells exactly as it did in my day."
"Want a bite?" offered a cheeky second-year, earning scattered laughter.
Gryffindor's demonstration of protective dueling techniques had everyone on the edge of their seats, especially when a shield charm rebounded spectacularly and turned Professor Flitwick's hat into a toad.
"Entirely intentional demonstration of why precision matters!" he squeaked, chasing the hopping headwear across the staff table.
Then came Lumina's contribution. The floating pumpkins began to glow with a different light, and suddenly the air was filled with shimmering scenes – not changing the traditions, but revealing their origins. Students watched in wonder as the story of each Halloween custom played out above them.
"It's like seeing through time," a first-year whispered, watching the first wizard carve a protective rune into a turnip centuries ago.
The scenes shifted and flowed: medieval witches brewing protective potions, ancient wizards gathering to strengthen their communities' wards, the first Halloween feast at Hogwarts itself. Each moment was preserved and presented with careful attention to historical accuracy – a nod to Ravenclaw's research that didn't go unnoticed.
Even Blackwood looked impressed, though he tried to hide it. "Well," he muttered to Amanda, "at least you didn't make the armor dance."
"Oh no," she grinned, pointing upward. Along the ceiling, the suits of armor were performing a perfectly dignified medieval pavane. "We compromised. Historical accuracy, see?"
Sarah McKinnon hurried over, clutching her ever-present book. "Actually, that's a remarkably accurate representation of 15th-century magical ceremonial dances! The positioning of the armor's feet is exactly as described in—"
"We know, Sarah," Amanda and Augustus said together, then shared another surprised look at their synchronization.
As the feast progressed, the houses began to mingle more freely. Slytherins explained the intricacies of their wards to interested Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs shared family stories behind their traditional recipes. Gryffindors taught younger students the basic moves of protective dueling, while Lumina's illuminations continued to reveal the deeper meanings behind each tradition.
"You know," a Slytherin fourth-year said thoughtfully, sampling a piece of historically accurate battenberg cake, "this is actually pretty brilliant. All of it."
Professor McGonagall stood to address the school as the feast neared its end. "Tonight," she said, looking around at her students, "you have all demonstrated what makes Hogwarts truly special. Not our differences, but how we can bring them together." She paused, adjusting her glasses. "Though perhaps next year we could have fewer experimental shield charms?"
Professor Flitwick's toad-hat croaked in agreement from its new perch atop a floating pumpkin.
Later, in their respective common rooms, each house celebrated in their own way. The Gryffindors threw an impromptu party, the Ravenclaws began planning next year's research, the Hufflepuffs shared leftover treats, and the Slytherins sat in satisfied silence, their wards still shimming faintly in the dungeon light.
In Lumina's common room, Neville addressed his house. "You've learned something valuable tonight," he said. "Innovation isn't about erasing what came before. Sometimes it's about helping others see it in a new light."
The Sorting Hat nodded sagely, then added, "Though I must admit, the dancing armor was a nice touch. Particularly the gavotte."
As students drifted off to bed, still chattering about the evening's events, the castle settled into its ancient rhythms. The portraits dozed in their frames, the ghosts drifted through walls, and somewhere in the distance, Peeves could be heard singing a surprisingly in-tune version of Monster Mash.
Halloween had changed at Hogwarts, yet somehow stayed exactly the same. Just like the castle itself, it had found a way to grow while keeping its heart intact.
The next morning, breakfast was a surprisingly unified affair. Students from different houses swapped stories and leftover treats, comparing notes on various traditions they'd learned about.
"Next year," Blackwood was overheard saying to Amanda, "we could combine the wards with your illumination spells. If you're interested."
She pretended to check his temperature. "Augustus Blackwood, suggesting cooperation? Should we check for Polyjuice Potion?"
He swatted her hand away, fighting a smile. "Don't push it, Chen."
The Sorting Hat, watching from the staff table, hummed contentedly. Sometimes the best innovations weren't in spells or enchantments, but in the way people learned to work together.
As autumn deepened toward winter, the Halloween celebration became a talking point for something larger – how tradition and progress could coexist, how five different approaches to magic could make each other stronger.
Though of course, there was still the matter of the armor, which had developed a concerning habit of breaking into dance whenever anyone hummed near them. But that, as McGonagall sighed while watching a suit of armor attempt a pirouette, was a problem for another day.
"At least they're historically accurate dances," Sarah McKinnon offered helpfully.
McGonagall's only response was to pinch the bridge of her nose and walk away, leaving the armor to finish its medieval choreography in peace.