October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward.
Ginny, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.
"A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly.
Harry had just returned from his quidditch practice, to find Ron, Hermione, and me sitting 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!"
"Yeah I doubt there have, you know given it's a death day party." I said
"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..."
"Yeah well a party is a party." I told him.
Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander.
Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.
The salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room, as Percy ran down from the dormitory yelling at Fred and George.
Most of the month was filled with quidditch practices and homework. At least quidditch was good, I had been playing very well.
Eventually Halloween rolled around, and I was extremely excited for Nick's death day party. The Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.
"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."
"Plus it's a party! I can't wait!" I said happily.
So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering with gold plates and candles, and directed our steps instead toward the dungeons.
The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces.
The temperature dropped with every step they took. As we drew closer I could heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. We 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 us inside.
It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black- draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Our breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.
YOU ARE READING
The Weasley of Slytherin: The Chamber of Secrets
Fanfiction(Y/n) Weasley. The only of the Weasley children to be sorted into Slytherin. After a break full of mischief with his brothers he is returning to Hogwarts for his second year, although what awaits him is beyond his imagination.
