"It's something some ghosts tend to do to celebrate the day they died," Cedric said. "I don't know why, exactly, since it's just sounds so depressing, but that's what they do."
October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, 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 afterwards. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking peaky, 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.
There was some laughter at that.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.
"Those things are going to be huge," Cedric said.
"We could probably walk through them, if they get cut up just right," said Hermione.
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.
"You know, hearing something like this makes me not want to play Quidditch, at least, not for Wood," Harry said.
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 were no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like jump-jets.
"Okay, I guess I can see why you need the extra practice," Cedric said. "Knowing how fast they go, it would make anyone nervous."
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 fulfil their requirements ... half an inch, if that ..."
"I wonder what's on his mind," Cedric said.
"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.
"How does he have a letter," Hermione said, looking at Cedric.
"No idea. It's something I've never asked about," Cedric told her.
"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 fulfil requirements'."
"Oh, I think I know what this is," Cedric said. "I've heard that he keeps trying to join the Headless Hunt every year. Apparently, he thinks that if he continues to ask every year, he'll eventually join it. It's not going to happen, though, because you've actually have to be headless to in it the Hunt."
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?"
"No," Hermione said. "I would think have your head separated would do it, though. Is there any way for him to detatch the rest of his head from his body?"
"I don't think so. I've never really bothered to learn about ghost, but I think that, because they are the imprints of the exact moments they died, along with being ones who were too scared to go on into the unknown, I don't think they can be changed," Cedric said.
"I somehow get the feeling, though, that he expects Harry to agree with him," Luna said.
"Oh – yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.
"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 fulfil 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."
"Nice alliteration," Hermione said, as the others chuckled at Nick's name change for the one ghost.
Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So – what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"
"Unfortunately, I don't think there is anything that he can do to help you," Cedric said.
"No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly—"
"You know, I think it might have been best to head to the common room," Cedric said, "because I think you're about to be interrupted by either Filch or Mrs. Norris."
The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned by a high-pitched mewing from somewhere near his ankles.
"You've run into Mrs. Norris," Hermione said.
"And, where Mrs. Norris is, Filch is sure to come running to rather quickly," Cedric said.
He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal grey 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 flu and some third-years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five;"
"Yeah, I'm so sure it was an accident," Cedric sniggered.
"he's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place ..."
"Can he actually punish you for a bit of mud?" Hermione asked.
"He can try," Cedric said. "Because of his foul mood, he'll probably act like you were trying to do it on purpose or something. Of course, he has to bring all complaints to the head of house, and they'll usually say you don't have to serve a detention if its for something that wasn't don't on purpose."
"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 goodbye to Nearly Headless Nick, and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.
"Filch is a bit of an idiot," Cedric said, as the others rolled their eyes at the fact that Filch was just giving himself more work to deal with. Not that he wouldn't have had more to work with as Harry finished making his way to Gryffindor tower, but having Harry follow him would double it even more, since he would also have the trail leading from where Harry was, to his office, and then to the Gryffindor tower.
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.
"He must make that for his cat," Hermione said.
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.
"That would make sense, they go there quite a few times," Cedric said.
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.
"That right there says that he shouldn't be there what so ever," Hermione huffed.
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 ..."
"So he thinks giving you detention will make an example of you," Hermione said. "It's not, because I get the feeling that the pranksters honestly don't care."
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 ..."
"There is no real crime," Hermione said. "Jeez, you'd think you did something horrible the way he's acting."
"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.
"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch,
"Why doesn't he just use magic, then," Harry said.
"I don't know," Cedric said.
a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "Crime ...befouling the castle ... suggested sentence ..."
Dabbing 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! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.
"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"
And without a backwards glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.
"Your saved, now get out of there. And don't forget the paper he made on you," Hermione said. "Otherwise, you leaving won't do any good."
Harry looked at her, surprised that she would say something like that, as she didn't seem to be the type to go for something like that. She noticed his look, as she had been looking at him when she had told him what she had.
"What? You haven't done anything wrong and shouldn't have been dragged in there to begin with," she answered.
Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't much like Peeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harry.
"Why doesn't it seem like your about to run?" Cedric said.
"Probably because I'm not," Harry said.
Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front.
"Well, while you should be running, I guess satisfying your curiosity will work as well," Hermione said. "I wonder what the letter is."
With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read:
KWIKSPELL
"Kwikspell?" Harry asked. "What's that?" He turned to look at Luna and Cedric, hoping one of them would tell him what it was.
"Well, Kwikspell is a rip off," Cedric said. "It doesn't actually work, but what it's says its used for is to help mediocre wizards become better at spells and potions. I don't actually think it does, because people either have the talent or not, and no amount of learning will really help them."
A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic
Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:
Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? There is an answer!
Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!
Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: "I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the centre of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!"
Warlock D.J. Prod of Didsbury says: "My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!"
"Geez, how nice of him," Hermione said dryly.
Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard?
"I would assume so, though if I remember correctly, my mother said that most people who get it are Squibs," Cedric said, "which is another reason that she doesn't care for the program much, because it can get their hopes up."
Harry was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.
"Oh, no," Hermione said, noticing how it didn't mention where the envelope landed.
Filch was looking triumphant.
"I think he's hoping that he'll be able to get Filch out of the castle," Cedric said. "Don't think it will happen, though."
"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!"
"There's a vanishing cabinet at the school," Cedric said. "I didn't know that."
he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet."
His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope which, Harry realised too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.
"You should have exercised caution when you saw it," Luna said.
"You're only saying that because he's pretty much been caught looking at it," Hermione said.
"Yes, I am," Luna said.
"So, you would have been alright with me doing that if I hadn't been caught," Harry said.
"Yes," Luna said, much to the amusement of the others.
Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope and threw it into a drawer.
"Have you – did you read –?" he spluttered.
"No," Harry lied quickly.
"Yeah, somehow, I don't think that's believable," Hermione said.
Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.
"If I thought you'd read my private ... not that it's mine ... for a friend ... be that as it may ... however ..."
"Yeah, that's why your getting so mad about it," Hermione said.
Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks and the tartan scarf didn't help.
"Very well ... go ... and don't breathe a word ... not that ... however, if you didn't read ... go now, I have to write up Peeves' report ... go ..."
"You got out of there without getting a report. That's got to be some kind of record," Cedric said.
Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the corridor and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.
"Harry! Harry! Did it work?"
Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet which appeared to have been dropped from a great height.
"Must be the vanishing cabinet," Hermione said. "What is a vanishing cabinet, anyways?"
"Not quite sure," Cedric said. "I would assume they have something to do with vanishing, but my mother told me that they were often used for escaping a house during the war and often came in pairs. What I wouldn't mind knowing is where the other half of that one is at."
"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office,"
"And I get the feeling that he didn't need that much persuasion," Hermione said.
said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him –"
"It definitely worked. That was very nice of Nick," Harry said.
"Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!"
They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.
"Didn't he put it away earlier," Hermione said. "Why does he have it out now?"
"I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said.
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.
"But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry – would I be asking too much – but no, you wouldn't want –"
"You know, this makes it seem like he's trying to trap you into doing something for him," Cedric said, then turned towards Hermione. "Maybe that's why he has the letter out, to help get Harry to agree to whatever it is that he wants."
"It does sound like that. Maybe this is how you end up attending a deathday party, Harry," Luna said.
"What is it?" said Harry.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
"Yep, it's how you get yourself invited to a deathday party," Cedric said.
"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this. "Right."
"Yes, it's best to just be apathetic about it, safer in a way," Cedric said, "ghost tend to show different reactions about their deaths, after all. Of course, it seems that Nick doesn't actually mind his death all that much."
"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if you would attend. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome too, of course – but I dare say you'd rather go to the school feast?"
"You're kind of trapped there," Hermione said. "Not only did you say you wished you were able to do something for him, but he is also the reason why you were able to get out of Filch's office scot free. While I'm not sure he meant to trap you or not, you kind of are."
He watched Harry on tenterhooks.
"No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come –"
"At least you didn't promise for me and Ron. I would be rather upset with you on that, though I doubt I won't want to go myself," Hermione said.
"My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my Deathday Party! And," he hesitated, looking excited, "do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
"It won't work," Hermione said. "I don't think there is a way to find him frightening."
"Of – of course," said Harry.
Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.
"Of course he did. You agreed to do as he asked," Luna said.
"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!"
"It does sound a bit fascinating. Perhaps I can go to one myself," Luna said dreamily.
"Well, I think you'll be able to tell if you really want to or not when we see how it goes for Harry," said Hermione.
"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 ..."
"It does sound depressing," Cedric said.
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.
"They did what?" Luna said, her voice deceptively calm.
Fred had 'rescued' the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.
"It better not hurt the Salamander," Luna said.
Harry was on the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when 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 explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harry's mind.
"So, we don't know about it," Hermione said.
"I'm sure that I'll get around to mention it at some point," Harry said.
By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the Deathday Party. The rest of the school were 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 rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.
"I doubt it," Cedric said. "There are always rumors like that, and that rarely even turn out to be true."
"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily.
"I must want to go to the feast now," Harry said.
"You said you'd go to the Deathday Party."
"I know, you don't have to nag," Harry said, but the look on his face took away any bite to what he just said.
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 towards the dungeons.
"You know, maybe you should make sure you get something to eat," Cedric suddenly said. "I don't think many humans go to these things, and ghosts can't eat, so having food there wouldn't seem very prudent. If you ask the twins, I'm sure they could take you straight to the kitchens if needed."
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.
"That sounds a bit creepy," Hermione said.
The temperature dropped with every step they took.
"Should've dressed warmly," Hermione said.
As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.
Harry winced and said, "is that supposed to be music?"
"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.
"I hope his head stayed on," Harry said. He really rather not be treated to the sight again – or, rather, he would prefer it, as he hadn't seen it quite yet.
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 black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight blue with a thousand more black candles.
"Wow," Luna said.
Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.
"We definitely should have bundled up," Harry said.
"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.
"Yeah, because walking through someone would just make you freeze even more," Cedric said.
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.
"So, he scares others as well," Hermione said.
"Either that, or the fact that he's paying for something keeps others from talking to him," Luna said. "Remember what Cedric said earlier, the bloodstains shouldn't be there unless he's paying for something."
"Oh no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle –"
"Who?" Cedric asked. Hermione shrugged, having no idea who she was talking about.
"Must be an unknown ghost to males," Luna said.
"Who?" said Harry, as they backtracked quickly.
"She haunts the girls' toilet on the first floor," said Hermione.
"She haunts a toilet?"
"I think that's an appropriate thing to say at the moment," Cedric said, his eyes wide. Hermione nodded, also surprised.
"Yes. It's 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 go to the loo with her wailing at you –"
"That would be very annoying. What, does she think she owns that bathroom exclusively," Hermione said.
"Look, food!" said Ron.
"There's actually food there?" Cedric said, surprised. "Huh. Nick must've gotten some for you three when Harry said that he'd be coming – my guess is, by now, you three being together is a common thing."
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 slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington died 31st October, 1492
"Okay, maybe I was wrong," Cedric said, looking a bit sick.
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 they taste it?" Harry asked. Cedric shrugged, though he didn't really see how the ghost could have.
"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.
"I think you might get an answer to your question, Harry," Luna said.
"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.
"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," said Hermione knowledgeably,
"That makes a bit of sense," Cedric said.
pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.
"Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.
"I can understand that completely. I think I would be sick and not wanting to eat anything for a while if I was there," Cedric said.
They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in mid-air before them.
"Hello, Peeves," said Harry cautiously.
"Somehow, I can understand that," Cedric said.
"I hope he didn't hear what I said about this Moaning Myrtle ghost," Hermione said. "I can just see him calling her over to be mean."
Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves 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.
"Yeah, I can see why you would be concerned," Harry said.
"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
"Definitely not," Harry said.
"No thanks," said Hermione.
"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle."
"I guess I need to be careful about what I say about people and ghost," Hermione said.
He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"
"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically.
"Not the best thing to do with Peeves," said Cedric. "If he knows that you don't want it to happen, he'll make sure that it does."
"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.
"Have you ever seen a ghost like that around?" Harry asked Cedric. Cedric shook his head.
"What?" she said sulkily.
"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione, in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."
"I guess that's something that's usually not seen," Hermione said.
"I get the feeling that Myrtle's not going to be fooled by your tone, or is going to be instantly suspicious," Cedric said.
Myrtle sniffed.
"Miss Granger was just talking about you –" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.
"Just saying – saying – how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.
"Liar," Harry said. "You were desperate to avoid her, and you simply filled us up on the facts about her."
Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.
"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.
"No, she wasn't," Luna said. "It's as Harry said, you were simply filling us up on the facts about Myrtle."
"No – honestly – didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.
"You shouldn't continue on that lie, though," Luna said. "It would probably be better if you said you were informing Harry and Ron who she was."
"Oh, yeah ..."
"She did ..."
"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves 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 missed out 'spotty'," Peeves hissed in her ear.
"He's just horrible," Hermione said.
Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling, "Spotty! Spotty!"
"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.
"I must feel bad for Myrtle," Hermione said.
Nearly Headless Nick now drifted towards them through the crowd.
"Enjoying yourselves?"
"Not really," Hermione said.
"Oh, yes," they lied.
"I don't think we want to hurt his feelings," Harry said.
"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.
"I wonder who that is?" Hermione said.
"I have the feeling that it's the headless hunt," Cedric said.
"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; a large ghost at the front, whose bearded head was under his arm, blowing the horn, 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.
"Now, that just seems to be a bit rude," Harry said. "I mean, the fact that they purposely made an entrance, and making sure every eye was on them."
"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"
"That's mean to say, especially since they know that it can't be any other way," Cedric said. "And he wants to join this group? I wonder why, since I don't see anything worth joining them for."
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 and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).
"So, basically, he did it on purpose so that he would be the center of attention," Luna said, a frown on her face. "Not only that, but he's also making fun of Nick in a way, pointing out that his head can fall all the way off while Nick's can't."
"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.
"It seems that Nick can tell this, too," Luna said.
"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 –"
"Geez, this guy just doesn't know when not to say things," Harry said.
"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very – frightening and – er –"
"Um, I think anyone in the world can tell that you've been asked to say that," Cedric said.
"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 towards the podium and climbing into an icy-blue spotlight.
"My late lamented lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow ..."
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.
"I think that Properly-Decapitated Podmore hates not being the center of attention," Harry said, noticing that, since he'd arrived, this ghost had been purposely making the other ghosts keep their attention on him.
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.
"Yeah, it's not like it's really worth staying there anymore," Harry said.
They backed towards 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 towards the steps to the Entrance Hall.
"If your lucky. It's too bad that you don't know where the kitchens are, then you could make sure to get a full meal," Cedric said.
And then Harry heard it.
"... rip ... tear ... kill ..."
"Did we hear it?" Hermione asked.
It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office.
He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
"Harry, what're you –?"
"It's that voice again – shut up a minute –"
"... soo hungry ... for so long ..."
"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.
"So, we shall see if Ron and I can hear it," Hermione said.
"... kill ... time to kill ..."
The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away – moving upwards. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upwards? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?
"I don't think a phantom would be able to harm anything," Cedric said, looking a bit worried.
"This way," he 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 him.
"Harry, what are we –"
"I don't think Ron and I can hear this voice," Hermione said.
"So, basically, whatever this creature is, only Harry can hear it as far as we know," Cedric said. Hermione nodded.
"SHH!"
Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: "... I smell blood ... I SMELL BLOOD!"
"It's going to try and kill someone," Luna said, sounding a bit frightened for once. The looks on the others' faces said that they themselves were frightened, too.
His stomach lurched. "It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Ron and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps.
Hermione had to wonder what creature it was that he was hearing.
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, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything ..."
"Well, there's at least a definite you guys can't hear it instead of just guessing you guys can't," Cedric said. Hermione didn't answer, still thinking about what creature Harry might be hearing, that she and Ron didn't seem to be able to hear.
But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.
"Look!"
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.
"That does not sound good," Harry said.
"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" asked Hermione.
"Not sure," Cedric said. "I've never heard of it."
"What's that thing – hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.
As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped over: there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched towards the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realised what it was at once, and leapt backwards with a splash.
"That does not sound good," Luna said.
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.
"Is she dead?" Hermione asked.
"I don't think so," Cedric said.
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.
"One, I don't think you'll be able to do anything, and two, you don't want to be caught there," Cedric said.
"Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be found here."
"Somehow, I don't think we'll be getting out of there before people come," Harry said.
"It probably would be better if we hid somewhere," Hermione said.
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.
"How can they be coming from both ends of the corridor?" Hermione asked. "Save for us three, they were all in the Great Hall!"
Honestly, I don't know," said Cedric.
The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forward to see the grisly sight.
"It probably is a very disturbing sight," Luna said. "Especially for any cat lovers."
Then someone shouted through the quiet.
"Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
"I wonder who that is," said Cedric, clearly sarcastic, as it was kind of obvious who it was.
"I think he much know something about whatever this chamber of secrets is," Hermione said, "and who the enemy of the heir is, too."
"Which, makes me thing that this chamber has something to do with Slytherin," Cedric said.
"Why?" Hermione asked.
"Just the fact that it's a bit of a well known fact that Salazar Slytherin was the person who originally started the whole pureblood fanatic thing," he said.
"And you know this how?" Hermione said.
"Well, that's the way it's written in a lot of books," he said, though he frowned as he said this.
"Oh," Hermione said.
"Wait. Exactly how many of these books are written by people who actually knew him, or were written by him?" asked Harry. Cedric grimaced, as Harry had hit the head of what he was actually thinking about earlier.
"Actually, most are written by people who lived years after he did," Cedric said. Hermione looked at him.
"So how would they know, then," she said. He shrugged, looking back at the book in her hand. Realizing that she wasn't going to get an answer anytime soon, she turned back to it herself, and began to read the rest of the chapter.
It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.
"How can he be glad at the sight of something like that. It's sick," Luna said. The others agreed with her.
"That's it," Hermione said, handing the book over to Cedric. He looked at the clock before marking the page and closing the book.
"I think we should eat before we begin the next chapter," he said. The others looked at the clock themselves, realizing that it was the perfect time to eat now. They headed toward the kitchen – or, rather, three of them did. Hermione, though, headed to the girls' apartment, a pen and notebook in her hand. Grabbing what she was dubbing her copy of the first book, she went to the kitchen, taking the plate that Harry offered her – apparently, he was taking care of making the food today, which was, again, sandwiches.
As they ate, Hermione began rereading it, this time to make some notes about it. She had just reached the snake part in the second chapter when she froze, remembering what Cedric has said about that particular talent of Harry. She looked up.
"I think I have a bit of an idea of whatever it is that Harry is hearing," she said.
"What?" Cedric asked.
"It's some kind of snake. I mean, it does fit: only Harry can hear whatever it is, from the sound of it, it comes from something of Slytherin, and you said that Slytherin was able to speak to snake as Harry is able to do and that his house symbol is a snake," she said. "The only problem I'm having is I don't know any kind of snake that can do whatever happened to Mrs. Norris without leaving some kind of sign, and I definitely don't know of a snake that can make a cat as stiff as a board."
"Well, I'm not about to bet against you, because I get the feeling that you're right," Cedric said. "And you are right, it does fit. I guess we'll find out later on in the book if you are completely right. Also, I get the feeling that, if you can figure this out, book you will be able to figure out the rest of what we want to know."
"There's just one problem," Hermione said. "I don't think book me knows about Harry's snake talking talents."
Cedric went pale at the mention of that.
"People are going to know," he said. Harry, who had been following the conversation himself, also went pale at that, remembering what Cedric has said about it.
"People are going to be suspicious of me if they do know," he said. No one said anything after that, and lunch finished in a silence only broken by Hermione's writing and and page turning. Once they had finished, they quickly looked around for something for dinner, finding something to make and getting it ready for that time before walking back to the reading room, Hermione quickly putting her notebook, pen, and book into her room beforehand.
"Alright, ready for the next chapter?" Cedric asked, holding the book in his hand. The others nodded their heads, and he opened it to the marked page.