October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into thecastle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spateof colds among the staff and students. Her Pepper up Potion workedinstantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hoursafterwards. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied intotaking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gavethe impression that her whole head was on fire.Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for dayson end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, andHagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood'senthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened,which was why I was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoona few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched tothe skin and splattered with mud.Even aside from the rain and wind, it hadn't been a happy practicesession. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, hadseen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand andOnes. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than sevengreenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.As I squelched along the deserted corridor I came acrosssomebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly HeadlessNick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of awindow, muttering under his breath, ". . . don't fulfil theirrequirements . . . half an inch, if that . . .""Hello, Nick," said I."Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking around.He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with aruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completelysevered. He was pale as smoke and I could see right through him tothe dark sky and torrential rain outside."You look troubled, young Lupin," said Nick, folding a transparentletter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet."So do you," said I."Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of noimportance. . . . It's not as though I really wanted to join. . . . Thought I'dapply, but apparently I 'don't fulfil requirements' —"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 theletter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neckwith a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?""Oh — yes," said I, who was obviously supposed to agree."I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick andclean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved mea great deal of pain and ridicule. However —" Nearly Headless Nick shookhis letter open and read furiously:"'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted companywith their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossibleotherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such asHorseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatestregret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfil ourrequirements. 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, Emily! Mostpeople would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enoughfor Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a farcalmer tone, "So — what's bothering you? Anything I can do?""No," said I. "Not unless you know where we can get seven freeNimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly —"The rest of my sentence was drowned out by a high-pitchedmewling from somewhere near my ankles. i looked down and found myself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, theskeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort ofdeputy in his endless battle against students."You'd better get out of here, Emily," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in agood mood — he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plasteredfrog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning allmorning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place —""Right," said I, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs.Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious powerthat seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenlythrough a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about forthe rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, andhis nose was unusually purple."Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly ashe pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from my Quidditchrobes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you!Follow me, Black!"So I waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick andfollowed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprintson the floor.I had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place moststudents avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oillamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingeredabout the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from theirlabels, I could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch hadever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer tothemselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung onthe wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he wasalways begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their anklesfrom the ceiling.Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling aroundlooking for parchment. "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies . . . frogbrains . . . rat intestines . . . I've had enough of it . . . make an example . . .where's the form . . . yes . . ."He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer andstretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the inkpot."Name . . . Emily Lupin-Black. Crime . . .""It was only a bit of mud!" said I."It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me, it's an extra hourscrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of hisbulbous nose. "Crime . . . befouling the castle . . . suggested sentence . . ."Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at me,who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceilingof 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 backward glance at me, Filch ran flat-footed from theoffice, Mrs Norris streaking alongside him.Peeves were the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace wholived to cause havoc and distress. I didn't much like Peeves, buthe's always liked me for some reason. Hopefully, whatever Peeveshad done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big thistime) would distract Filch from me. Thinking that I should probably wait for Filch to come back, Isank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing onit apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelopewith silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to checkthat Filch wasn't on his way back, I picked up the envelope and read: KWIKSPELL _____________________________________ A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic Intrigued, I flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf ofparchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said: Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself makingexcuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for yourwoeful 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 Kwikspellmethod!Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:"I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a familyjoke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the centre of attention atparties 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 yourfabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak!Thank you, Kwikspell!" Fascinated, I thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents.Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn'ta proper wizard? I was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand(Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told me Filch wascoming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, I threwit back onto the desk just as the door opened.Filch was looking triumphant."That Vanishing Cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was sayinggleefully to Mrs Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet —"His eyes fell on me and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which,I realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.Filch's pasty face went brick red. I braced myself for a tidal waveof fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, andthrew it into a drawer."Have you — did you read — ?" he sputtered."No," I lied quickly.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 —"I was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. Hiseyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and thetartan scarf didn't help."Very well — go — and don't breathe a word — not that — however, ifyou didn't read — go now, I have to write up Peeves' report — go —"Amazed at my luck, I sped out of the office, up the corridor, andback upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment wasprobably some kind of school record."Emily! Emily! Did it work?"Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind me, I could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet thatappeared to have been dropped from a great height."I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nickeagerly. "Thought it might distract him —""Was that you?" I said gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't evenget detention. Thanks, Nick!"They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Inoticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter."I wish there was something I could do for you about the HeadlessHunt," I said.Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and I walked rightthrough him. I wished I hadn't; it was like stepping through an icyshower."But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly."Emily — would I be asking too much — but no, you wouldn't want —""What is it?" I said."Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said NearlyHeadless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified."Oh," I said, not sure whether I should look sorry or happy aboutthis. "Right.""I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends willbe coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if youwould attend. Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too,of course — but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" Hewatched me on tenterhooks."No," I said quickly, "I'll come —""My dear boy! The heir of Black and Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And" — hehesitated, looking excited — "do you think you could possibly mention toSir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?""Of — of course," I said.Nearly Headless Nick beamed at me. "A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when I had changed at lastand joined her, Harry and Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't manyliving people who can say they've been to one of those — it'll befascinating!""Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Harry,who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Soundsdead depressing to me. . . ." Ron exclaimed. Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, butinside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over thecountless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doinghomework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find outwhat would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fredhad "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care ofMagical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a tablesurrounded by a knot of curious people. I was at the point of telling Ron, Harry and Hermione about Filch and theKwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air,emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. Thesight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, thespectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander'smouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, droveboth Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harry's mind.By the time Halloween arrived, I was regretting his rash promise togo to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipatingtheir Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usuallive bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns largeenough for three men to sit in, and there were rumours that Dumbledore hadbooked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment."A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded me bossily. "You saidyou'd go to the deathday party." So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I walked straight past thedoorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly withgold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward thedungeons.The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been linedwith candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These werelong, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostlylight even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with everystep they took. As I shivered and drew my robes tightly around myself, we heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormousblackboard. "Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a cornerand saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with blackvelvet drapes."My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome . . . sopleased you could come. . . ."He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them 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, playedby an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overheadblazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breathrose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer."Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm uphis feet."Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they setoff around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomynuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerfulHufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out ofhis forehead. I wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt,staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given awide berth by the other ghosts. "Oh, no," said Hermione and I, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, Idon't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle —""Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly."She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor,"said Hermione."She haunts a toilet?""Yes. It's been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrumsand flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it'sawful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you —""Look, food!" said Ron.On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in blackvelvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in theirtracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish werelaid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, wereheaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheesecovered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cakein the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words, SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTONDIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492, I watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table,crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passedthrough one of the stinking salmon."Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him."Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away."I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," said Hermioneknowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putridhaggis."Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swoopedsuddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them."Hello, Peeves," I said almost cheerfully. Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the veryreverse 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."Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered infungus."No thanks," said Hermione."Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing."Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed,"OI! MYRTLE!""Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset,"Hermione whispered frantically. "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 faceHarry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearlyspectacles."What?" she said sulkily."How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It'snice to see you out of the toilet."Myrtle sniffed."Miss Granger was just talking about you —" said Peeves slyly inMyrtle'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," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in hersmall, see-through eyes."No — honestly — didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" saidHermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs."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'tknow what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle!Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!""You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon.Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply!Pimply!""Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd."Enjoying yourselves?""Oh, yes," we lied."Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The WailingWidow 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, andeveryone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, asa hunting horn sounded. "Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.Through the dungeon, wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by aheadless 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. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who heldhis bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing thehorn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could seeover the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly HeadlessNick, 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 theshoulder. "Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly."Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, Hermione and I andgiving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again(the crowd howled with laughter)."Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly."Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Stillupset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say — look at thefellow —""I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick'svery — frightening and — er —""Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!" I decided I was going to start acting now, I pretended to shake off fear and cower behind Hermione. I whispered but loud enough for sir Patrick to hear. 'please tell when he's gone.' i took quick glances at nearly headless nick and had a fearful face on. 'no don't make him do it,' i said as I put my head in Hermione's shoulder, I was a little bit taller than Hermione but not very much. I quickly winked at nick so the Patrick couldn't see. he got the gesture and pulled his head almost off or as far as it could go. I let out a high pitched scream and hid behind hormone. "looks like you have got a few who cower in your presents said sir Patrick looking amused. 'shes not scared of anything other than sir Nickolas.' Hermione said catching on. "really oh well then." "If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" saidNearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbinginto an icy blue spotlight."My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my greatsorrow . . ."But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the HeadlessHunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd was turning towatch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, butgave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.I was very cold by now, not to mention hungry. "I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, asthe orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto thedance floor."Let's go," Harry agreed.They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone wholooked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passagewayfull of black candles."Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading theway toward the steps to the entrance hall.And then Harry heard it.". . . rip . . . tear . . . kill . . ."It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard inLockhart's office.He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all hismight, 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, watchinghim.". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ."
YOU ARE READING
Emily Lily Lupin-Black
AdventureEmily Lily Lupin-Black lived at the Malfoys ever since she was 1 and 5 months old she was loved and cared for until one faithful full moon when she found out she was half-werewolf, HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF. Join Emily as she helps Fred and George with...
