By the time Halloween arrived, I was cursing Harry for his promise that we'll go to the Deathday Party. The rest of the school were happily waiting for their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's huge pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit inside and there were rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. Sounds like we're missing out on a good night.
"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry when he complained. "You said you'd go to the Deathday Party"
I glared at him. "Yeah, and dragged us along too!"
Harry frowned.
So, at seven o'clock, myself, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the already packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed our steps instead towards the dungeons.
Oh, how I'm going to miss the food tonight...
Great, now I'm sounding like Ron.
Curse you Ronald!
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, think, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, light even over our own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step we took and the breath from our mouths could be seen in the air when we breathed out. I shivered and wrapped my robes tightly around me and as Harry wrapped his arms around me pulling me close, I heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping on an enormous blackboard. Cringe.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. We turned a corner and saw 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 that's for sure. 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 black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight blue with a thousand more black candles. Our breath rose in a mist before us, it was like stepping into a freezer. Damn, it's cold.
"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested as he shifted on his feet. They were probably cold.
"Careful not to walk through anyone," I said nervously, and we set off around the edge of the dance floor. 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 at all 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 suddenly, stopping in her tracks. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle-"
"Who?" Harry asked, as we backtracked quickly.
"She haunts the girls' toilet on the first floor," I explained.
"She haunts a toilet?"
"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 go to the loo with her wailing at you-" Hermione was cut off.
"Look, food!" Ron grinned.
Now we're talking!
On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. We approached it eagerly, all of us hungry, but next moment we had stopped in our 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 maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold 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 Mimsy-Porpington
died 31st October, 1492
"I suddenly don't feel hungry anymore," I gagged and hid my face in Harry's shoulder. Actions like this make people question if we're together...but we're not. We're only twelve! Shh!
Harry chuckled.
I lifted my head up off his shoulder and watched, amazed, as a poorly 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 said sadly, and he drifted away.
"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," I said talking like Hermione. I pinched my nose and leaned closer to look at the putrid haggis. Yuck.
"Can we move? I feel sick," Ron did look really pale.
We had barely turned around, however, when a little man swopped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in mid-air before us.
"Hello, Peeves," Harry said cautiously.
Unlike the ghosts around us, Peeves the poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow-tie and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.
"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering us a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
"No, thanks," Hermione shook her head.
"Head you talking about poor Myrtle," Peeves said, his eyes dancing. Oh no. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"
"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what we said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "We didn't mean it, we don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle"
The squat ghost of a girl glided over. She had the glummest face I had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly glasses.
"What?" she said sulkily.
"How are you, Myrtle?" I asked, in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet"
Myrtle sniffled.
"Miss Granger and Miss Swan was just talking about you-" Peeves said slyly in Myrtle's ear.
Damn you Peeves! I shared a look with Hermione.
"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," Hermione stuttered, glaring at Peeves.
Myrtle eyes us 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 said, nudging me and Harry painfully in the ribs whilst she glared at Ron.
"Oh, yeah..."
"She did..."
"Totally..."
"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 Mytrle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"
"You missed out 'spotty'," Peeves hissed in her ear.
I glared at him. "Not helping, Peeves!"
Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts yelling, 'Spotty! Spotty!'
"Oh, dear," I said sadly.
Nearly Headless Nick now drifted towards us through the crowd.
"Enjoying yourselves?"
"Oh, yes," we all 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. We, and everyone else in the dungeon fell silent, looking around in excitement as a hunting horn sounded.
"Oh, here we go," Nearly Headless Nick said bitterly.
Through the dungeon, wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; I started to clap too, along with Harry, 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; 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 Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.
Gross.
"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 us and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again, (the crowd howled with laughter). I shared a look with my friends.
"Very amusing," Nick said darkly.
"Don't mind Nick!" shouted 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," Harry said hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very - frightening and - er-"
"Ha!" Patrick's head yelled. "Bet he asked you to say that!"
"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 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 Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
I was very cold by now, and not to mention starving.
"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 backed towards the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at us, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.
"Pudding might not be finished yet," I said hopefully, leading the way towards the Entrance Hall.
Harry suddenly stumbled to a halt and clutched the stone wall. He looked around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
"Harry, what're you-?"
"It's that voice again - shut up a minute-"
We stayed quiet for a few moments, trying to listen out for anything that didn't seem normal.
"Listen!" Harry said urgently and me, Ron and Hermione just froze, watching him.
Harry suddenly looked up at the ceiling with amazement. I raised my eyebrow.
"Harry, I don't hear anything...come on-" I started to say.
"This way!" he suddenly shouted, and he bagan to run, up the stairs, into the Entrance Hall. We followed after him, hearing the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, with us clattering behind him.
"Harry, what are we-"
"SHH!"
Harry looked to be listening out for something. His face went suddenly pale.
"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted and ignoring our bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time.
Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, with us panting behind him, not stopping until we turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.
"Harry, what was that all about?" Ron said, wiping the sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything..."
"Neither could I," I panted.
But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.
"Look!"
Something was shining on the wall ahead. We 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 said, a slight quiver in his voice.
As we edged nearer, Harry almost slipped over: there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Me and Ron grabbed onto him, and Hermione linked onto my arm as we inched towards the message, our eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. We all realised what it was at once, and leapt backwards with a splash.
Mrs Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.
For a few seconds, we didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here"
"Shouldn't we try and help-" Harry began awkwardly.
"Trust me," Ron said, "We don't want to be found here"
But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told us that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where we 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. Me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forward to see the grisly sight.
Then someone shouted through the quiet.
"Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
It was Malfoy. He had 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.