𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 | 𝑁𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑏𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑚

Chapter 8 - Halloween

The following morning, Helena awoke bleary-eyed and absolutely sleep-deprived.

Last night had been her worst for sleep in ages. She'd dreamt up ghastly images, horrid movies in her head--in one, the shadowed creature had looked up, revealing a gruesome face that was difficult to put into words. In another, it had wrapped itself around her and constricted the air out of her lungs, the life out of her body. (She had woken up with a start from that one, panting and close to tears). And then, in another that stuck with her (as it was the worst), the creature had attacked both Harry and Neville, and no matter what she tried to do, she couldn't stop it. She had been completely helpless, legs like cement and arms like jelly and a floppy wand to top it all.

As she rose from her bed, legs initially achy from all the running from the Forest, she stretched her hands high up toward the ceiling, the bones in her back cracking as if she were something old and weary. After taking a moment to regroup her thoughts, she began straight to work at dressing up for the day--to be in a more festive mood--though hard as it was to muster--for the students and professors alike. She had laid out a set of dark robes and the stereotypical witch's hat, which was garnished with a bit of lace around the back. She supposed it would suffice for a "costume," though in hindsight it might have been better to choose something unrelated to magic, seeing as it was part of everybody's everyday life here at Hogwarts. To them, she'd look just as she did any other day, save for the hat (she didn't generally wear hats; that was more of McGonagall's thing).

Being that it was both a Saturday and Halloween, Helena took her time to get up to the Great Hall and grab breakfast, mostly using it to cover up the dark circles that had set in beneath her eyes. By the time she did find herself there, the cavernous room was practically deserted, inhabited only by a few students milling about and Professor Flitwick, who was already starting on the decorations.

Not feeling very hungry for any breakfast yet, Helena decided she should get to work, taking out her wand to string along some baubles shaped to look like miniature Jack-o-Lanterns. To her side, she watched from her peripherals as Hagrid began rolling overly-large pumpkins into the hall--some of the students gaped, some pointed to the scene with enthusiasm, and others scurried to get out of the way. Helena simply smirked to herself.

Hagrid continued to roll the gigantic Jack-o-Lanterns until he was directly beside her. He nodded in her direction. "Mornin'."

If he was trying to be casual, he was doing a rather terrible job. Perhaps Harry was right in saying that the man could not keep a secret. "Morning, Hagrid," Helena said calmly as she surveyed him. He was pink in the face from his hike up to the castle and having to haul such heavy things along with him. "And how are you?"

"Oh, jus' marvelous," he panted. He leaned on the now-upright pumpkin, its massive face staring out over the Great Hall. "You?"

Helena lied straight through her teeth. "Fantastic."

"Great!" Hagrid forced awkwardly. He looked as if had a million things to say, but was swallowing it all back. "Well--off ter get another pumpkin. Er--see yeh." He raised his hand in a stiff wave and walked away. Helena almost wanted to laugh--bless that man's heart.

When she and Professor Flitwick had wrapped up stringing up the final decorations, Helena took a moment to feel completely and utterly proud of herself. The Great Hall looked spectacular, thanks to their extra flourish; charmed cobwebs haunted the corners of the room and the window-panes (that had been a fight with Argus Filch, who only calmed when Helena explained they would disappear without the need to be physically cleaned up); a mixture of floating pumpkins and dangling spiders hovered just beneath the ceiling; strings of faux autumn leaves had been strung over the tops of the windows. The tables had been set back out for the upcoming feast, garnished with special goblets whose bases were made up of an iron skeletal hand reaching up to cradle the cup. Bowls of punch were laid out intermittently along the benches, pouring over with a magical, mysterious, endless fog.