Daughter of a Criminal

The Deathday Party

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 Weasley, 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. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry and Ann were to be found, 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 hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles. As Harryand Ann squelched along the deserted corridor when they came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as they were. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "… don't fulfill their requirements… half an inch, if that…" "Hello, Nick," said Harry.
"Hey,a Nicholas," said Ann
"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Ann could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.
"You look troubled, young Potter and Black," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.
"So do you," said Harry.
"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance… It's not as though I really wanted to join… Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' â€"" 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 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 â€" yes," said Harry and Ann, who were 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. Howeverâ€"" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read 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 fulfill our requirements. 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, 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 took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So â€" what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"
"No," said Harry.
"Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Slyâ€"" The rest of Ann's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near her ankles. She looked down and found herself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.
"You'd better get out of here, Harry, Ann" said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood â€" he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place â€""
"Right," said Harry and Ann, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.
"Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter, Black!" So Harry and Ann waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. Neither Harry or Ann had ever been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Ann could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling. Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.
"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… 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 and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot. "Names… Harry Potter, and Anastasia Black. Crime…"
"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.
"Yeah c'mon!" said Ann
"It's only a bit of mud to you, lads, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "Crime… befouling the castle… suggested sentence…" Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry and Ann who waited with bated breath for their sentence to fall. But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of 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 Harry or Ann, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him. Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Ann didn't much like Peeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from her and Harry. Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk.
"What are you doing?" asked Ann.
"Huh, Peeves will make him madan he'll forget about us and let us of the hook,but not is we leave," said Harry, making Ann sit back down.
"Fine," said Ann, looking around. There was only one thing on the desk apart from Flinch's half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, Ann picked up the envelope and showed it to Harry it read: Kwikspell: A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic. Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said: Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful 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 Kwikspell method! Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: "I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties 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 your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!" Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard? Harry and Ann were just reading Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips) when shuffling footsteps outside told them Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened. Filch was looking triumphant.
"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet â€"" His eyes fell on Harry and Ann and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, Harry realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started. Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry and Ann braced themselves for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer.
"Have you â€" did you read â€"?" he sputtered.
"No," Harry lied quickly. Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.
"If I thought you'd read my private â€"not that it's mine â€" for a friend â€" be that as it may â€" however â€"" Ann was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help.
"Very well â€" go â€" and don't breathe a word â€" not that â€" however, if you didn't read â€" go now, I have to write up Peeves' report â€" go â€"" Amazed at their luck, Harry and Ann sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.
"Harry! Ann! Did it work?" Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Ann could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height. "I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him â€""
"Was that you?" said Ann gratefully.
"Yeah, it worked, we didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!" said Harry. The three set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Ann noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter…
"I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said. Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him.
"But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry Annâ€" would I be asking too much â€" but no, you wouldn't want â€""
"What is it?" said Ann.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this.
"Right. I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course â€" but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry and Ann on tenterhooks.
"No," said Harry quickly, "We'll come â€""
"My dear children! Harry Potter and Anastasia Black, at my deathday party! And â€"" he hesitated, looking excited "â€" do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
"Of â€" of course," said Ann. Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.