𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 | 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳

21 || Happy Deathday To You

"A bit farther, George," Fred said as George poked the Filibuster firework down an orange salamander's throat. They had "rescued" it from a Care of Magical Creatures class and were now trying to see what happened when they lit it off.

"What d'you suppose is going to happen?" Lee Jordan asked excitedly.

"I dunno, but it's going to be wicked," the twins said in unison. Before I could stick around to watch them light the fuse, I saw Harry approach Hermione and Ron.

"What's up?" I said, seeing his expression.

"I was walking down the hall, and I ran into Nearly Headless Nick," he explained. "He invited me to his Deathday party. I said yes, because he got me out of detention with Filch."

"What's that?" I asked, turning to Hermione.

"A deathday party, really?" she said keenly. "I bet there aren't very many people who could say they've been to one...I bet it'll be fascinating!"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" Ron said bitterly. "Sounds dead depressing to me..."

"Well, I don't think it'll be fascinating," I said to Harry, "But if you said you would go, you probably should. It'll mean a lot to Nick."

"Oh, come one, Ash, it'll be really informative!" Hermione said. I laughed.

"I guess so," I agreed. "I've never been to one, how bad can it be?"

Answer: Bad. Very bad.

When we arrived, Harry and Ron looking longingly at the Halloween feast set up in the Great Hall, we were directed towards the dungeons. The dungeons, however, were so cold that my feet felt like they were going to fall off.

"Welcome, welcome," Sir Nicholas greeted us mournfully. "Thank you for coming, yes..."

The sound coming from inside the party was like a dozen fingernails scratching on a chalkboard, and it made my spine tingle.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered, covering his ears. Sir Nicolas swept off his velvet-plumed hat and ushered them inside.

Hundreds of pearly-white ghosts milled around the dungeons, most waltzing slowly to the sound of scraping saws, played by a band on an elevated black platform. There was a chandelier in the center of the ceiling, holding thin, black candles nothing like the ones decorating the Great Hall. When I breathed out, I could see it rise in a mist. It was like stepping into a freezer.

"S-shall we have a look around, then?" chattered Ron. I nodded quickly--I was afraid standing in one spot any longer would freeze my feet to the floor.

"I h-hate the c-cold," I said to Hermione, my teeth knocking together.

"But...you said you also hate the heat?"

"Yes."

Hermione only sighed and shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she gazed around, entranced at the sight before us.

"Oh, no," Hermione said suddenly, and I saw who she was looking at. "Turn back, turn back--"

"Why?" Ron asked.

"It's Moaning Myrtle," I said quietly. "She haunts a girls' toilet on the first floor."

"She haunts a toilet?"

"It's awful, trying to have a pee with her wailing at you," said Hermione, frantically wringing her hands.

"Look, food!" Ron exclaimed, having come face-to-face with his true soulmate.