By the time Halloween arrived, I was regretting allowing Harry to make the rash promise to go to the death day 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 rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. Even the bloody Slytherins were looking forward to it.
"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded me bossily. "You said you'd go to the death day party."
"Harry forced me!" I whined, "It shouldn't count!"
But at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione and i walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed our 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. I loved them to be honest. The temperature dropped with every step we took.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered.
It sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. We 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 us 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. My breath rose in a mist before me; it was like stepping into a freezer. And I've had the bad fortune to do that a few times.
"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested.
"Careful not to walk through anyone," Ron said nervously.
We passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead.
I wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts. He gave me a happy wave though, seeing as i was one of his.
"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -"
"Who?" Harry asked as we scrambled back the way we had come.
"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione.
"She haunts a toilet?" Ron asked, looking amused.
"Yes. 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 have a pee with her wailing at you-"
"Look, food!" said Ron.
"Don't," I said, grabbing them back, "I hear ghosts can taste strong flavours, it'll all be rotten."
We had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.
"Hello, Peeves," Harry said cautiously.
"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
"Move them, Peeves, now," I growled, and he squeaked and did as I said. I had never figured what about me scared him.
"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was 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. She had the glummest face I had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
"What?" she said sulkily.
"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet." Myrtle sniffed.
"Miss Granger was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.
"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves. Myrtle eyed 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?" said Hermione, nudging us.
"Oh, yeah -" Harry agreed.
"She did -" Ron added.
"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 forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.
Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply! Pimply!"
"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly. Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.
"Enjoying yourselves?"
"Oh, yes," I lied, imagining myself joining these ghosts if I had to stay any longer.
"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick 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," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.
Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face. The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging.
At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost 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 Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.
"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.
"Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Belle, Harry, Ron, and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).
"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.
"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow -"
"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very - frightening and - er -"
"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!"
"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward 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 had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
"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," Harry agreed, we escaped easily and bolted upstairs.
"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully.
". . . rip . . . tear . . . kill . . ."
I froze, it was that voice again. But there was nothing up and down the hallway, so where was it coming from?
". . . soo hungry . . . for so long . . ."
"Listen!" said Harry urgently.
"You can hear it?" I asked, Harry nodded. Hermione and Ron were staring at us.
". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ."
Was it going upwards? How? It wasn't near the stair casee, I'd be able to see it. Not thinking I bolted up the stairs, trying my best to follow the voice, Harry was only a foot behind me. I lost it as we reached the entrance hall.
"Belle, Harry, what're we -"
"SHH!" Harry hissed.
". . . I smell blood. . . . I SMELL BLOOD!"
"It's going to kill someone!" Harry gasped and ran up the next set of stairs.
I didn't want to follow a murderous voice but gestured for Ron and Hermione to follow me as I set off after him. I couldn't hear anything other than my heart pounding in my chest until Hermione let out a loud gasp.
"Look!"
There was something shiny on the wall, I edged forwards then stopped. The words were large, and it smelled iron-y, like blood.
"The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware," I read aloud.
"What's that thing - hanging underneath?" Ron asked, voice quivering.
Harry slipped in a puddle but I grabbed his arm, steadying him. That thing, hanging from the torch bracket was Mrs Norris.
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