Chapter 5 ~ The Deathday Party

While Harry and Ron had detention, and Hermione was busy reading Gilderoy Lockhart’s books, again, Serafina went out of the common room in hopes to find Draco, alone.

Where would you look if you wanted to find a Slytherin? In the dungeons, of course. That was where Serafina went first. She had just passed the Great Hall and was walking in the direction of the kitchens when she ran into her friend Cedric Diggory, quite literally. As he hurried around a corner, and Serafina was about to turn left, the two of them collided and Serafina fell to the floor.

“Are you alright?” Cedric asked worriedly, extending a hand to help her up.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she told him, taking his hand.

“Listen, I’ve been trying to talk to you, but I always seem to miss you,” he said. “My dad’s trying to transfer me to another school in Australia because it is said they’ve got the best transfiguration lessons there. And he likes you because you always listen to his rants, are polite and agree with him – even if it’s only to shut him up. If you could do something – anything – to try and stop him from doing that,” he said.

“Of course, Ced. I’ll write a letter tonight or tomorrow,” she told him.

“You’re a gem,” he smiled brightly. “If it works, I’ll marry you!” He laughed at his joke, and Serafina joined him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone with pale skin and blonde hair hurrying around the corner, all on their own. It was Draco.

“Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ll see you around,” Serafina told Cedric and brushed past him.

When she turned around the corner, however, Draco was nowhere in sight. She ran along the hallway, and looked around all corners she passed, trying to spot Draco, but without luck.

And just when she had given up, Serafina heard his voice, floating through the air.  “Yes, that’s what I was saying, Professor. Goodnight.”

Serafina stood there as if she had been petrified. As footsteps approached her, she snapped out of it, and looked around, trying to find an empty class room to slip into. She didn’t fancy being caught out after curfew.

It seemed like time slowed down as she scurried as quietly as possible to a door, and tried to open it, only to find it was locked. As she heard the person joining her in the hallway, she turned her back on them and tried to walk around the next corner as casually as possible.

“What, may I ask, are you doing out here, Miss Black, at this time, all on your own?” the cold voice of her least favourite teacher, Severus Snape, sneered.

“I- I was just getting back to my common room, Professor.”

“Ten points from Gryffindor. Now go, or I will take more.”

Serafina closed her eyes briefly and then hurried back to the Gryffindor common room. She had been so close to confronting Draco, but everything that could have gone wrong had happened. At least Snape hadn’t done anything worse than taking points from her, like giving Serafina detention, or notifying Professor McGonagall, the head of her house.

The common room was still buzzing with people, but Hermione had already gone to bed. Serafina didn’t feel like sleeping just yet, and joined Fred and George Weasley, Ron’s brothers, and their friend Lee Jordan. They joked around for at least another hour before Serafina went to bed. But when she did, she was so tired that she barely remembered changing.

"My muscles have all seized up," Ron groaned while he and Serafina were on their way to breakfast. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off...”

“Well, you could always try to avoid detention by not getting into trouble,” Serafina told him.

“You’re turning into Hermione,” Ron told her, smiling at his own joke.

On Sunday, she wrote a letter to Amos Diggory, Cedric’s father, trying to casually tell him that Hogwarts was the best place for Cedric. Of course she failed miserably to bring it into the letter casually, but maybe he would still see sense.

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

And then, a few days before Serafina’s 13th birthday, she finally managed to corner Draco Malfoy.

“Why did you give me this bracelet?” Serafina didn’t have time for formalities.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco spat.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Serafina narrowed her eyes at him. He wouldn’t dare to pretend he hadn’t. She had proof, for Merlin’s sake!

“Alright, it may have been me.” A smug smile formed on Serafina’s face. Draco had confessed; she had been right – not that she hadn’t expected it. There was only one thing left to find out.

“I know it was you. But I repeat: why did you give it to me?”

“You know why.” Draco stared at her coldly. “I know you do. You just want me to say it!”

“No I don’t! I don’t have a clue what you’re bloody talking about!”

“Merlin’s beard,” he muttered. Serafina narrowed her eyes at him again. “Alright I’ll tell you!” Draco threw his hands up in defence. “I might like you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

Of course, Serafina didn’t have a lot of knowledge on the topic of relationships. But she could tell by the way that Draco’s eyes shifted uncomfortably around the floor that he wasn’t lying. And from that moment on Draco was Serafina’s first boyfriend.

"A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed joined her, Serafina 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!".

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

“Especially on Halloween. I don’t mean to seem rude, but it’s my birthday then. I can’t go on a deathday party, can I?” Serafina leaned back a little, trying to get a better look at Hermione’s homework. If Ron would only move his arm a few inches to the right… Hermione slammed a book on her homework with a bang and shot Serafina a glare.

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 smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something 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, distracted Serafina so much that she didn’t think a second time about what Harry might have said.

By the time Halloween arrived, Serafina was regretting her 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, there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment, and it was her birthday after all.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Serafina bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."

So at seven o'clock, 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.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. A sound like nails scratching over a chalkboard drifted over to them.

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. The 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.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor.

They 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.

"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -"

Serafina stopped dead in her tracks and turned around, hoping she hadn’t been seen.

"Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said Serafina.

"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 have a pee with her wailing at you -"

"Look, food!" said Ron. 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 maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington died 31st October, 1492

Serafina 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 though it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

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

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

They 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," said Harry cautiously. Unlike the ghosts around them, 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 them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No thanks," said Hermione.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, 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 we 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. Her face was 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 Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah -"

"She did -"

“Absolutely -”

"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 spotty," Peeves hissed in her ear.

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

"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," they lied.

"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. 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 Harry, Ron, Hermione and Serafina 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. They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

Harry suddenly 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, what're you -?"

"It's that voice again - shut up a minute -"

Serafina listened, alright, but she couldn’t hear anything. Harry was going bonkers.

"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron, Hermione and Serafina froze, watching him.

"This way," he shouted, and he began to run.

So... I haven't updated in a while. But here's a new chapter! I hope you liked it, feel free to point out any typos or the like that I missed. Tell me what you liked and what you didn't :)

Also, this chapter is dedicated to @harrypotternarnia97 because she's a god friend and got a book punlished recently, congratulations! Make sure to follow her because she's great!

Anyway, while I'm waiting for tomorrow because Blood of Olympus comes out then, I might continue to write. Or I might watch a movie. Goblet of Fire is looking especially tempting there in my shelf.

Okay, now I'll stop bothering you. Have a great day/evening/night. Stay awesome. Smile.