Love at First Sight (Harry Potter)

The Deathday Party

|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|

October arrived quickly and, with it, a damp chill that coated the Hogwarts grounds and seeped into the stone castle walls. Large raindrops thundered on the windows for days on end; the Black Lake rose and then overflowed, the flower beds in the courtyard turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

Many students fell ill because of the sudden change in temperature, resulting in slightly emptier corridors and a bustling Hospital Wing. Even my sister, Ginny, was among one of the affected — she was forced to drink Pepperup Potion, which left her smoking at the ears with her face the same colour as her hair.

However, despite the dreadful weather and the looming threat of sickness, Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions was not dampened. Which was why, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, I could be found returning to Gryffindor Tower with Harry Potter at my side — the two of us drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Rain and wind aside, the Quidditch practice had not been a happy one that afternoon. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves just how fast the Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones actually were. My dear older brothers reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven "greenish blurs", shooting through the air like missiles.

As Harry and I squelched along the deserted corridor, an aura of peace hung over our heads, we came across someone who seemed to be just as preoccupied as we were. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring sorrowfully out of a window, muttering beneath his breath, ". . . don't fulfill their requirements . . . half an inch, if that . . ."

I glanced at Harry; our eyes immediately met, as though his first instinct had also been to look in my direction. Together we shrugged, and then I opened my mouth to bid the ghost what I had hoped would be a quick hello.

"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick in response, 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 I could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside the window behind him.

"You look troubled, young second years," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

"So do you," said Harry, with a single nod of his head.

"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' —"

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 with such an unexpected fury that Harry and I exchanged another glance, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh — yes," said Harry, obviously fighting to keep the questioning tone out of his voice as he didn't seem to know if his was the correct response.

"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 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.' "