Dawn Rivera

The Deathday Party

"A Deathday Party?" says Hermione keenly, when Harry has changed at last and has joined her, Ron and me 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!"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" says Ron, who is halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me...But if I have to go, Dawn, will you be my date?"

I blush and peck Ron quickly on the lips. "Of course," I say, giving him a hug so that I can have an opportuniity to look smugly at Hermione. She really does look upset and almost feel bad for her. Almost.

Rain is still lashing the windows, which are now inky black, but inside, all looks bright and cheerful. The firelight glows over the countless squishy armchairs where people sit reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George, trying to find out what will happen if you feed a Filibuster Firework to a Salamander. Fred "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it is now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Harry looks like he is on the point of telling me, Ron and Hermione something when the Salamander suddenly whizzes into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirls wildly around 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, seem to drive whatever Harry was going to say from his mind.

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By the time Hallowe'en arrives, Harry is regretting his rash promise to go to the Deathday Party. The rest of the school are happily anticipating their Hallowe'en feast; the Great Hall has been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins have been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in and there are rumours that Dumbledore has booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

"A promise is a promise," I remind Harry bossily. I'm really just looking forward to mine and Ron's date. "You said you'd go to the Deathday Party."

So, at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione and me walk straight past the doorway to the packed hall, which is glittering with plates and candles, and direct our steps instead towards the dungeons.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party has been lined with candles too, though the effect is far from cheerful: these are long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over our own living faces. The temperature drops with every step we take. As Harry shivers and draws his robes tightly around him, I hear what sounds like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispers. We turn a corner and see Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he says mournfully, "welcome, welcome...so pleased you could come..."

He sweeps off his plumed hat and bows us inside.

It is an incredible sight. The dungeon is 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 blazes midnight blue with a thousand more black candles. Our breath rises in a mist before us; it is like stepping into a freezer.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggests, obviously wanting to warm up his feet.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," says Ron nervously, and we set off around the edge of the dance floor. We pass a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who is talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry doesn't look surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, is being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.