Chapitre 75: Chapter 75
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Chapter 50- Deathday.
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Well, it is Halloween, and that means it was the time for the first snake attack victim. And, having given my mind a good review, I remembered that the first victim would actually not be a human but a cat. Mrs Filch, to be exact, no, that's not right. Mrs Norris? Yeah, Mrs Norris. It might seem at times that Argus Filch is married to his cat, but that isn't possible. Well, not in this era in time. He could wait a good twenty to thirty years, and then he could probably do it.
Anyway, Mrs Norris would be petrified tonight, on Halloween. Or Samhain or All Hallows Eve, whatever you want to call it. Now, this is an area where there is some fog for me as from the movie, I knew that the attack was supposed to happen on Halloween after Harry's detention with me. But given that that detention has been and gone, this is new territory. Frankly, this attack could happen anywhere in the castle at any time tonight, and I wouldn't know. Now, I know I said I was going to do whatever I wanted, but the thing I want most is to not die tonight, so I am going to play this safe.
I could have gone to the great hall and joined the feast, but the feast ends at some point, and then everybody has to leave, and who is to say the attack won't happen after that. No, right now, the safest place to be is near Harry Potter. Because he will be the one to discover Mrs Norris, therefore he will not be there or anywhere near the bloody Basilisk. I mean, I could just hunker down in my own room, but apparently, the Basilisk moves through the pipes and magical openings or some shit, so it could theoretically just pop into my room. Plus, with Tom Riddle at the helm, I am going to assume this snake can go anywhere and everywhere unfettered.
Now, with my ear to the ground, by which I mean my eavesdropping spell, I managed to learn that Harry Potter and his two buddies were going to be attending the deathday party. Apparently, it was nearly headless Nick's five hundredth anniversary of the day he died, and that was a cause to be celebrated, and for some reason, Harry was going there. Whatever, I don't care. I managed to talk to Nick, and the guy invited me to attend as well. I required literally zero effort from myself, and so I was going.
So at seven o'clock, I checked in and made sure Ginny Weasley was still sitting there before walking straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles and instead directed my steps toward the dungeons. It is fitting that a so-called deathday would be hosted in such a dark and dreary place. It is only because I have confirmed Ginny's presence at the great hall that I am even risking descending into Hogwarts depths.
The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too. However, the effect was far from cheerful. These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light over the surroundings. The temperature dropped with every step I took towards the festivities. I shivered and felt like drawing my robes tightly around me. I drew my wand and cast a heating charm around me to warm me, but then I heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.
"Is that supposed to be music?" I heard someone whisper from further down the hallway. Squinting my eyes to try and see through the dark, I spot Harry and his friends, and I quickly speed up to join them, wanting to have a little fun on their behalf. Just when I got behind them, they turned a corner, and I turned with them to see 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 took unnecessary pauses just to increase the spookiness as he swept off his plumed hat and bowed us inside.
"Of course, Gilderoy Lockhart never turns down an invitation," I say loudly, causing the three students in front of me to jump. "What the?" Ron screams, jumping around to see me with the other two. I ignore them and walk straight past them and into the party.
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 felt just like stepping into a freezer.
"Shall we have a look around?" I heard Harry suggest to his friends behind me. "You don't mind if I join, do you kids? It's not that I have anything against them, but I would like to keep some tangible company." I turn around and say, not wanting to get too involved with these ghosts and lose sight of my goal here, which is sticking to Harry for now.
"Of course, sir." Hermione replies for the group, Ron and Harry looking at her like she is off her head, but it is too late. "Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and we set off around the edge of the dance floor, me letting them take the lead. We 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. Why the hell are there nuns here? I wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, scary 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-" Yep, I could see the teenage ghost ahead. She wasn't talking to anyone, just hanging around a corner moping to herself, and I could already see her looking up in the hope that we were coming to her. "Who?" said Harry as we backtracked quickly. "She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione.
"She haunts a toilet?" I ask, finding it weird. I mean, clearly, Myrtle can go anywhere she pleases inside the castle, given she is here at this party, so why would she choose to haunt the toilet. "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 have a pee with her wailing at you..." Which means that happened to her, lovely. Maybe Ghosts have an innate attachment to the place they died? And that is why she stays there?
"Look, food!" said Ron. Well, he certainly has his priorities. Even with the talk of a haunted toilet that gets flooded and pee, he has his mind on the prize. On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. We approached it, Ron eagerly leading the way, but in the next moment, he had us stop in our 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 tremendous maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold 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. We 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. Passing through it, and the fish remaining there.
"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asks, and the rest of us can only shrug our shoulders. But then that same ghost turns around and answers him. "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, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis. I mean, that makes sense. The more pungent the smell, even if it is disgusting, the more they can taste it. I mean, having lived hundreds of years having never tasted anything, you can understand even tasting lousy stuff. It's disgusting, but it makes sense.
"Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron, no longer having the appetite for food, and I thought it could never be done. We had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.
"Hello, Peeves," Said Harry cautiously. Unlike the ghosts around us, 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. Honestly, someone should investigate this guy and do an in-depth research on ghosts and poltergeists. Not me. I don't have time for that shit, but someone should.
"Nibbles?" Peeves said sweetly, holding out his hand towards us and offering us a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus. "No thanks," said Hermione, speaking for the rest of us.
"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "Oy! Myrtle!" Wow, this guy is a fucking asshole.
"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said. She'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. Man, you would think after how Ron and Harry treated her last year, she wouldn't turn around and do the same sort of thing, which she would do again with Luna in a few years. Oh well, they are just kids, I suppose. "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 that you had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
"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." Myrtle sniffed. I mean, I would tell her to change her looks and how she behaves, but she is basically stuck in time. She is stuck with this, and she just has to try and make it work.
"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. Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.
"You're making fun of me," Myrtle said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes. "No, honestly... Didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs. She also turned her eyes to me, but I just looked blankly back, not willing to get involved with this ridiculous situation. "Oh, yeah." Ron supplies. "She did -" Harry tries to add.
"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "Do you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!" Why don't you add self-deprecating Myrtle as well, jeez.
"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear, causing Moaning Myrtle to burst into anguished sobs and flee from the dungeon. Peeves, not one to let things go, shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply! Pimply!" Hmm, well, that happened... Ugh, did I seriously just say that? I feel like I am in a bad sitcom.
"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly, not feeling any guilt at all even though she was the lynchpin to that whole situation. Children are really oblivious monsters, aren't they? Ignoring that, I notice Nearly Headless Nick now drifted towards us through the crowd. "Enjoying yourselves?" He asked us, and I just nodded my head, not knowing what else to say. When you don't have anything good to say, just don't say anything. Words to live by.
"Oh, yes," The kids lied, with smiles on their faces, Ron even foolishly doing a tummy rubbing gesture as if he had tried the food and enjoyed it. "Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly, looking around at all of the ghosts that have attended. You know, now that I think of it, maybe these ghosts have come from all over England. It makes sense that you need magic to see them so muggles won't notice them, and they can just float over here. Hmm, these ghosts have been around for possibly centuries, and they all know each other... a possible spy network? I should talk to Nick later.
"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..." I guess I was right. 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. I didn't clap because I am lazy. If anything, I would feign clapping. I don't clap because others do, only if I think something is deserving of clapping.
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 and then lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd, making everyone laugh, 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 me and then giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment so that his head fell off again, making the surrounding crowd howl with laughter.
"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly, looking like he would murder the man if he could, but he can't... because he's already dead. "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..." It is the Headless Hunt, and he is Nearly Headless Nick, so... one of these things is not like the other; one of these things just doesn't belong.
"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very... frightening and- er..." He falters there, not knowing what else to say. "Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!" He smiles in a not very nice way at Nick.
"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..." But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a bizarre game of Head Hockey, where they were wacking around their own heads, 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.
While this was surprising to watch at first, it quickly turned old as it was very cold by now, not to mention I was hungry, having thought I would get fed here. Looking at the kids, I could tell they were much of the same mind. "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.
"To the Great Hall, then? See if we can't get some food before the feast is over." I said, and we started to leave. We backed toward the door, the kids nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at us, and a minute later, we 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. Yes, see if some pudding can't warm me up.
And then Harry suddenly stalled, his face going pale. Having already seen it once before, I already knew what he was hearing. It was probably the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in my office that night. Harry stumbled to the side, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
"Harry, what're you-?" Hermione questions while I put my senses on high alert and subtly grab hold of my wand. I reach into the pocket of my robe, and draw out a pair of glasses, the type a professor would wear, and put them on my face. "It's that voice again- shut up a minute-" Hermione looks offended but shuts up nonetheless.
"Perhaps we should get you to Madam Pomfrey, Harry. I fear you might be hearing things that aren't there." I add my two cents just for appearance's sake, still keeping an eye on my surroundings. "Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him with concern, looking at me to do something.
Harry started looking every which way, trying his best to hear something. And then he loooked upward. A mixture of fear and excitement showed up on Harry's face as he stared at the dark ceiling. "This way," he shouted, and he began to run up the stairs and into the entrance hall. "Harry, what're we -" The other two ran after him, and we managed to catch Harry sprinting up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione quickly clattering up behind him.
"SHH!" Harry shouted while I stopped at the bottom of the marble staircase, watching them run up it. I just realised Harry was following the snake, and it was my objective to stay away from the goddamn thing. So, I guess I will just hang around here and wait till I hear the cries of shock once the school body finds Mrs Norris Petrified and hung to the wall with the blood message.
Any second now...
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