Ancient Magician (H.P various x Reader)

Chapter 27: The Deathday Party (Pt.2)

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𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳 2 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 27: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 (𝘗𝘵.2)

"𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦..."

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"A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when I had changed at last and joined her, Ron, and Harry 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!" 

 "Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds depressing to me..." 

Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework, or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "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 a knot of curious people. 

I was at the point of telling Harry, 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 around 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 envelope from Y/n's mind.

By the time Halloween arrived, I was regretting my rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was 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 me bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."

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

 The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As I shivered and drew my robes tightly around me, I heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.  

 "Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing 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 musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.