Ancient Magician (Severus x Reader)

Chapter 26:The Deathday Party

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𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳 2 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 26: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺

"𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘩"

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October rolled in with the kind of dreary gray skies that made everything feel a little heavier—homework, moods, even the food in the Great Hall. We'd been swamped with assignments in nearly every subject, and in the mess of parchment, quills, and last-minute essay panic, I completely forgot about my diary. I'd shoved it somewhere—I couldn't even remember where now. Probably at the bottom of my trunk, crushed under a pile of robes and chocolate frog wrappers.

As if that wasn't enough, nearly everyone seemed to come down with a cold. It spread like a curse through the castle—sniffling, sneezing, and all. Madam Pomfrey was up to her elbows in tissues and Pepperup Potion, rushing from bed to bed in the Hospital Wing.

The potion worked like a charm, of course, though it had a rather comical side effect. The drinker would spend the next few hours with steam pouring out of their ears like a kettle left on too long. I saw Ginny Weasley walking down the corridor with Percy by her side, steam billowing from beneath her flaming red hair. She looked like a firework about to explode. Percy was patting her shoulder, looking smug about forcing her to take the dose.

Outside, things weren't any better. The rain had been coming down hard for days, pounding against the windows like it had a vendetta. The lake was threatening to flood its banks, flower beds had turned into muddy rivers, and I swear Hagrid's pumpkins had grown to the size of small cottages. The man was over the moon about it, though. Said he might carve one into a boat if it kept swelling.

Still, no amount of weather seemed to shake Oliver Wood's relentless obsession with Quidditch. Rain? Wind? Lightning, probably? Didn't matter. Practice was on. So that's how I ended up soaked to the bone, caked in mud, and absolutely miserable, dragging my broom through the corridor late Saturday afternoon. My boots squelched with every step. I'd just come back from what might've been the worst practice of the season.

Fred and George, grinning and soaked, had managed to spy on the Slytherin team before practice and brought back grim news. The entire team had gotten brand-new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. According to them, the Slytherins were so fast they looked like green blurs zipping across the sky. We didn't stand a chance if we didn't get an upgrade—and fast.

I was just muttering to myself about how we'd ever manage to compete when I turned a corner and nearly bumped into someone—or rather, floated into someone.

"Hello, Nick," I said, blinking rainwater out of my eyes.

Nearly Headless Nick was hovering near a window, his ghostly form shimmering in the dim corridor light. He looked rather elegant today, with his plumed hat and ruffled collar, though his head—still dangling by that stubborn bit of sinew—was hanging slightly askew.

"Young Grimblehawk," he said, his voice airy but kind, "you seem as gloomy as the sky outside."

I gave a tired shrug. "Probably because I feel like I just got dragged through the lake. Twice. Quidditch practice. In this weather."

Nick gave a sympathetic sigh, folding a translucent piece of parchment and slipping it into his tunic. He glanced away quickly, but I caught the sour look on his face.

"What about you?" I asked. "You don't look exactly thrilled yourself."

He waved a delicate, transparent hand dismissively. "Oh, it's nothing. Truly. Just... I applied to join the Headless Hunt again. Thought maybe this time they'd see reason."