October arrives, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, is kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup Potion works instantly, even if it leaves the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who has been looking pale, is bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gives the impression that her whole head is on fire.
Raindrops the size of bullets thunder on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turn into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swell to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood’s enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, is not dampened, which is why Harry is hard to find, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.
Even aside from the rain and wind it hasn’t been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who have been spying on the Slytherin team, have seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They report that the Slytherin team is no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.
As Harry squelches along the deserted corridor he comes across two people who look just as preoccupied as he is. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, is staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, “…don’t fulfil their requirements…half an inch, if that…” and Polaris is staring at nothing, deep in thought
“Hello, Nick and Polaris,” says Harry.
“Hello, hello,” says Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wears a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which conceals the fact that his neck is almost completely severed. He is pale as smoke, and Harry can see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside. Polaris snaps out of his trance “Hey, Harry. What’s up?”
“You look troubled, young Potter,” says Nick, folding a transparent letter as he speaks and tucking it inside his doublet.
“So do you two,” says Harry.
“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waves an elegant hand, “a matter of no importance…. It’s not as though I really wanted to join…. Though I’d apply, but apparently I ‘don’t fulfil requirements’ –”
In spite of his airy tone, there is a look of great bitterness on his face.
“But you would think, wouldn’t you,” he erupts suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, “that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?”
“Oh – yes,” says Harry, who is obviously supposed to agree.
“I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However –” Nearly Headless Nick shakes his letter open and reads furiously.
“’We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfil our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.’”
Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffs the letter away,
“Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh, no, it’s not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore.”
Nearly Headless Nick takes several deep breaths and then says, in a much calmer tone, “So – what’s bothering you two? Anything I can do?”
“Unfortunately no, Nick. Sorry.” Polaris replies, shaking his head.
YOU ARE READING
The Mysterious Heir
Fanfic2 Years before Harry Potter is born, Voldemort conceives a son to take his place if he died before he reached immortality. After he is born, Voldemort enchants him to be more powerful than himself. This is the story of Polaris Cygnus Lestrange, The...
