Percy Jackson and the Heir of Slytherin [Book 2]

18) Deathday Party

I walked with my friends towards the dungeons, where Nick's party was held.

We talked on the way there, and Harry suddenly interrupted, "Wait, Hermione, you're descended from Athena, right?"

Hermione nodded, "Yes, why?"

"You're related to Malfoy, then," Harry said, looking at Hermione with a bit of surprise.

Hermione nodded again, "I am."

Harry nodded and looked confused again suddenly as we walked, "Wait, you're top in our class. Malfoy's second. So, why are you smarter than him if he's Athena's son, when you're her, like, great-great-great-great grandchild?"

"I'm not smarter than him, not by a long shot. He's dyslexic, like Percy. The teachers all write in English. Draco is also a lot more stressed than me. He's got monsters, young death, and a future of war on his plate," Hermione said, glancing at me as she said the war bit. I still had no clue about why it was such a bad thing to be a son of Poseidon at the time, but now I understand.

Harry nodded slowly, probably struggling with the fact that his arch nemesis was smarter than Hermione Granger.

The passageway that led to the party was lined with candles. These candles, however, were not very cheerful. They were long and black, burning with cold blue flames.

The temperature dropped as we got closer. I found myself shivering as we walked. Something that sounded like my third grade teacher dragging her nails across her chalkboard resounded through the corridor.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Whispered Ron. We turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing by a doorway with large, black drapes covering it.

"My dear friends," Nick said sadly, "welcome, welcome... so pleased you could come..."

He bowed us inside.

It was amazing. The dungeon was filled with hundreds of people, all ghostly white and translucent. They drifted around the room, many of them waltzing to the horrendous music. An orchestra of ghosts played a dreadful tune on thirty saws. A chandelier above us glistened with the same black and blue candles that were in the hallway, bathing the room in a cold light. I watched my breath in front of me, feeling as if I had stepped into a bathtub of ice.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," Ron said.

We walked, all of us shivering. I stayed close to Ron, knowing he was the warmest out of all of us. He wasn't even shivering due to Hestia's blessing.

We passed a group of sad looking nuns, a man in chains, and the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight that had an arrow stuck in his forehead. The Bloody Baron, Slytherin's ghost, was being given a wide berth from most of the other ghosts. He was downright terrifying, even to dead people.

"Oh no," Hermione stopped suddenly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle—"

"Who?" Harry asked as we backtracked.

"She haunts the girls toilet on the first floor," Hermione said.

"She haunts a toilet?"

"Yes. It's been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it, it's awful trying to go to the loo with her wailing at you—"

"Look, food!" Ron said.

There was a large table on the opposite side of the dungeon. It was filled with platters of food. We all went to go eat, but the smell stopped us in our tracks. Large, rotting fish were placed on the platters. Cakes, burnt blacker than my hair, were heaped on salvers. There were maggots haggis, cheese covered in fuzzy green mold, an a massive gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, black icing forming the words,