"A DEATHDAY PARTY?" HERMIONE REPEATED keenly, when Harry and Harper had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those—it'll be fascinating!"

Harper nodded in agreement.

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" Ron asked, already halfway through his Potions homework and rather grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me . . ."

Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now only black, but inside, all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight flowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in case of Fred and George, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Firework to a Salamander. Fred has 'rescued' the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smoldering gently on a table surrounded by knot of curious people.

Harper was on the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the Salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the Salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell from her mind.

• ✧ •

BY THE TIME HALLOWEEN CAME, I NOTICED Harry regretting our rash promise to go to the Deathday Party. The rest of the school were happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats; Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded him bossily. "You said you'd go to the Deathday Party."

So, at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Harper walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead towards the dungeons.

The passageway leading to Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: these were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all turning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces.

As Harpet shivered and drew her robes tightly around her, she heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping through an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered and the four of them turned a corner. Nearly Headless Nick stood at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully, "welcome, welcome . . . so pleased you could come . . ."

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musicals saws, played by an orchestra on a black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed a midnight blue with a thousand more black candles. Our breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

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

Harper nodded and the four of them set off around the edge of the dance floor.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," Ron warned nervously.

They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Far Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuf ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harper wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

"Oh, no," Hermione said and Harper followed her look, seeing Moaning Myrtle standing by herself in one of the corners. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle . . ."

"Who?" Harry asked, as they backtracked quickly.

"She haunts the girl's bathroom on the first floor," Harper said.

"She haunts a toilet?"

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "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 exclaimed.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly, but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggots haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

Sir Nicholas de Missy - Porpington
Died 31st October, 1492

They watched amazed as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," the ghost replied sadly, drifting away.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," Hermione said knowingly, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

"Can we move? I feel sick," Ron said.

We had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in mid-air before them.

"Hello Peeves," Harper greeted the poltergeist cautiously.

Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange hat, a revolving bow-tie and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No thanks," Hermione said.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," Peeves said, his eyes dancing. "Rude you were about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed. "OY! MYRTLE!"

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her—er, hello, Myrtle."

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. "What?" she said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermione asked, in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you . . ." Peeves said slyly in Myrtle's ear.

"She was just saying how nice you look tonight," Harper spoke up, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyes Hermione suspiciously. "You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No—honestly—didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" Hermione replied, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah . . ."

"She did . . ."

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've missed out 'spotty'," Harper could hear Peeves hiss in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with loudly peanuts, yelling, 'Spotty! Spotty!'

"Oh, dear," Hermione said sadly.

Nearly Headless Nick drifted towards them through the crowd.

"Enjoying ourselves?"

"Oh, yes," they lied.

"Not a bad turnout," Nick said proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent . . . It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra."

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," Nick said bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly and Harper wanted to clap, too, wasn't it for Nick's face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, tearing and plunging; a large ghost at the front, whose bearded head was under his arm, blowing the horn, leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed) and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"

He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," Nick said stiffly.

"Live 'uns!" Sir Patrick said, spotting the four of them and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).

"Very amusing," Nick said darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" Sir Patrick's head shouted from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say—look at the fellow . . ."

"I think," Harry said hurried, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very—frightening and—er . . ."

"Ha!" Sir Patrick's head yelled. "Bet he asked you to say that!"

"No, he didn't," Harper replied in a calm and serious tone.

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" Nick said loudly, striding towards the podium and climbing into an icy-blue spotlight.

"My late lamented lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow . . ."

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt has just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch.

As Harper looked back at Nick, she saw that he was trying vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

Poor Nick.

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

"Let's go," Harper agreed.

The four of them backed towards the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later, they were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," Ron said hopefully, leading the way towards the steps to the Entrance Hall.

Harper hurried after in but stopped abruptly as Harry stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry," Harper started. "What're you—"

"Listen!" Harry interrupted her urgently. Ron, Hermione and Harper froze.

She couldn't hear anything and as she glanced over at Ron and Hermione, she could tell they did not either.

"This way!" Harry shouted and he began to run, up the stairs into the Entrance Hall. He sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor.

"Harry, what are we—" Hermione began but Harry quickly interrupted her.

"SHH!"

Harry ran up the next flight of steps three at a time. "It's going to kill someone!" He hurtled around the whole of second floor, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Harry," Ron started, whipping sweat off, "what was that all about? I couldn't hear anything . . ."

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

"Look!"

Something was shining on the wall ahead, Harper noticed. The four of them approached, slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"What's that thing—hanging underneath?" Ron asked, a slight quiver in his voice.

"It's Mrs Norris," Harper muttered, recognizing Filch's cat.

For a few seconds, none of them moved.

"Let's get out of here," Ron said.

"Shouldn't we try and help—" Harry began awkwardly.

"Trust me," Ron replied. "We don't want to be found here."

But it was too late. A rumble, as thought of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people, next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat.

The four of them stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forward to see the grisly slight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

Harper recognized that voice and gritted her teeth. Draco Malfoy pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

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June 2nd 2022
I hope you enjoy it & tell me what you think of it! :)