Emma Potter

33: The Writing on the wall

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the groundsand into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was keptbusy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. HerPepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny, who hadbeen looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. Thesteam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression thather whole head was on fire. 

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windowsfor days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddystreams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.Oliver's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however,was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late onestormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returningto Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

I usually went to meet him, so he could complain about the rain and what not. As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor me walking much less loudly then he was, we came acrosssomebody who looked just as preoccupied as we were. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely outof a window, muttering under his breath, ". . . don't fulfill their requirements . . . half an inch, if that . . .""Hello, Nick,"I said."Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and lookinground. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, anda tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry and I couldsee right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside. 

"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it in. "So do you," said Harry. "Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance. . . . It's not as though I really wanted to join. . . . Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' —" In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. "But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?" "Oh — yes," I said, obviously supposed to agree."I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all beenquick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, itwould have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However —"Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

 " 'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads haveparted company with their bodies. You will appreciatethat it would be impossible otherwise for members toparticipate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret,therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, SirPatrick Delaney-Podmore.' " 

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away."Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on!Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it'snot enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, ina far calmer tone, "So — what's bothering you? Anything I can do?""No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get sevenfree Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly —"The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitchedmewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down andfound himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. 

It wasMrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students."You'd better get out of here, Potters," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood — he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five.He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud allover the place —""Right," I said, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs.Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filchburst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing andlooking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartanscarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple."Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped fromHarry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've hadenough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick andfollowed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddyfootprints on the floor, I followed him anyway.