Argus Filch

Hermione is a pureblood! If her parents could see diagon alley (remember how it specifically said muggles can’t see diagon alley?), they must have been squibs, which both of her parents could see diagon alley, but neither of them had magic, and we know Squibs can see magical places (Flitch could see Hogwarts) and if they were muggles, they wouldn’t see diagon alley, so Draco and the others were wrong!

am I late to finding this out? (My dad just explained it to me today)

My brother's fav hp characters are: Lucius, Fudge, Umbridge, Filch, Lockhart. THE ONLY DECENT CHARACTERS HE LIKES ARE MCGONAGALL, LUNA, NEWT, AND NEVILLE

So, my theory about Mrs. Norris the cat, is that she was once a witch, but turned into a cat because of being punished for something. I believe she is Filch's wife because if you do recall he was dancing with her at the yule ball...and her name is MRS. Norris.

Do any of you believe this theory?

At least mudbloods can DO magic

• Filch doesn't get enough credit (I honestly think he does so much work and one person WITHOUT MAGIC responsible for the upkeep of an entire magical castle is not enough.) I still think he's a bad person but he also isn't in a really fair situation.

• Harry and Ginny is an awesome ship

• Snape is an ultimately bad person. Yes, his whole story with Lily and stuff is beautiful, BUT he totally bullied hundreds of kids and caused them to have him as their worst fear, he publicly humiliated students, he bullied kids about their insecurities, etc.

• Dumbledore is ultimately good

• Harry is not overrated

• Neither Ron nor Harry is the right match for Hermione

• Dramione is the worst ship ever

• Hufflepuff is the best house. (They have the best values and the best people)

• Hagrid is a better (by far) parental figure for Harry than Sirius. Sirius is more like a really close uncle or cousin or super older brother.

• Harry's anger was justified in the Order of the Phoenix

• Molly Weasley totally had the magical skill to kill Bellatrix and her magical skill is totally underrated.

What do you think?

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386

Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099

Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589999

Chapter 5: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003590737

Chapter 6: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003592048

Chapter 7: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003593450

Chapter 8: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003594715

Chapter 9: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003595876

Chapter 10: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003596713

Chapter 11: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003597502

Chapter 12: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003598647

Chapter 13: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003600597

Chapter 14: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003602821

Chapter 15: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003605031

Chapter 16: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003605690

Chapter 17: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003607525

Chapter 18: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003607955

Chapter 19: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003608845

Chapter 20: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003609937

Chapter 21: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003612000

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox @Kakaonut @Potatopanda2121

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Egg and The Eye

(Before I begin I just have to say that because in canon this character has very little Harry Potter interacting with people there isn't much I could change, so if you want to skip directly to the bottom where Harry is talking to "Moody" that is fine, although there is a couple changes before hand.)

As Harry had no idea how long a bath he would need to work out the secret of the golden egg, he decided to do it at night, when he would be able to take as much time as he wanted. Reluctant though he was to accept more favors from Cedric, he also decided to use the prefects’ bathroom; less than twenty students were allowed in there, so it was much less likely that he would be disturbed.

Harry planned his excursion carefully, because he had been caught out of bed and out-of-bounds by Filch the caretaker in the middle of the night once before, and had no desire to repeat the experience. The Invisibility Cloak would, of course, be essential, and as an added precaution, Harry thought he would take the Marauder’s Map, which, next to the cloak, was the most useful aid to rule-breaking Harry owned, an invention from his three fathers school days. The map showed the whole of Hogwarts, including its many shortcuts and secret passageways and, most important of all, it revealed the people inside the castle as minuscule, labeled dots, moving around the corridors, so that Harry would be forewarned if somebody was approaching the bathroom. On Thursday night, Harry sneaked up to bed, put on the cloak, crept back downstairs, and, just as he had done on the night when Hagrid had shown him the dragons, waited for no one to be looking at the enchanted wall before slipping through.

It was awkward moving under the cloak tonight, because Harry had the heavy egg under one arm and the map held in front of his nose with the other. However, the moonlit corridors were empty and silent, and by checking the map at strategic intervals, Harry was able to ensure that he wouldn’t run into anyone he wanted to avoid. When he reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost-looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, he located the right door, leaned close to it, and muttered the password, ‘Pine fresh,’ just as Cedric had told him, and hoped that he hadn’t been pranked.

The door creaked open to Harry’s relief. Harry slipped inside, bolted the door behind him, and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, looking around. His immediate reaction was that it would be worth becoming a prefect just to be able to use this bathroom. It was softly lit by a splendid candle-filled chandelier, and everything was made of white marble, including what looked like an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. About a hundred golden taps stood all around the pool’s edges, each with a differently colored jewel set into its handle. There was also a diving board. Long white linen curtains hung at the windows; a large pile of fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and there was a single golden-framed painting on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid who was fast asleep on a rock, her long hair over her face. It fluttered every time she snored.

Harry moved forward, looking around, his footsteps echoing off the walls. Magnificent though the bathroom was—and quite keen though he was to try out a few of those taps—now he was here he couldn’t quite suppress the feeling that Cedric might have been having him on. How on earth was this supposed to help solve the mystery of the egg? Nevertheless, he put one of the fluffy towels, the cloak, the map, and the egg at the side of the swimming-pool-sized bath, then knelt down and turned on a few of the taps.

He could tell at once that they carried different sorts of bubble bath mixed with the water, though it wasn’t bubble bath as Harry had ever experienced it. One tap gushed pink and blue bubbles the size of footballs; another poured ice-white foam so thick that Harry thought it would have supported his weight if he’d cared to test it; a third sent heavily perfumed purple clouds hovering over the surface of the water. Harry amused himself for a while turning the taps on and off, particularly enjoying the effect of one whose jet bounced off the surface of the water in large arcs. Then, when the deep pool was full of hot water, foam, and bubbles, which took a very short time considering its size, Harry turned off all the taps, pulled off his pajamas, slippers, and dressing gown, and slid into the water.

It was so deep that his feet barely touched the bottom, and he actually did a couple of lengths before swimming back to the side and treading water, staring at the egg. Highly enjoyable though it was to swim in hot and foamy water with clouds of different-colored steam wafting all around him, no stroke of brilliance came to him, no sudden burst of understanding.

Harry stretched out his arms, lifted the egg in his wet hands, and opened it. The wailing, screeching sound filled the bathroom, echoing and reverberating off the marble walls, but it sounded just as incomprehensible as ever, if not more so with all the echoes. He snapped it shut again, worried that the sound would attract Filch, wondering whether that hadn’t been Cedric’s plan—and then, making him jump so badly that he dropped the egg, which clattered away across the bathroom floor, someone spoke.

‘I’d try putting it in the water, if I were you.’

Harry had swallowed a considerable amount of bubbles in shock. He stood up, sputtering, and saw the ghost of a very glum looking girl sitting cross-legged on top of one of the taps. It was Moaning Myrtle, who was usually to be heard sobbing in the S-bend of a toilet on the second floor.

‘Myrtle!’ Harry said in outrage, ‘I’m—I’m not wearing anything!’

The foam was so dense that this hardly mattered, but he had a nasty feeling that Myrtle had been spying on him from out of one of the taps ever since he had arrived.

‘I closed my eyes when you got in,’ she said, blinking at him through her thick spectacles. ‘You haven’t been to see me for ages.’

‘Yeah...well...’ said Harry, bending his knees slightly, just to make absolutely sure Myrtle couldn’t see anything but his head, ‘I’m not supposed to come into your bathroom, am I? It’s a girls’ one.’

‘You didn’t used to care,’ said Myrtle miserably. ‘You used to be

in there all the time.’

This was true, though only because Harry, Theodore, Allison, and Tracey had found Myrtle’s out-of-order toilets a convenient place to brew Polyjuice Potion in secret—a forbidden potion that had turned him, Allison, and Theodore into living replicas of Crabbe, Pansy, and Goyle for an hour, so that they could interrogate Malfoy about the Chamber of Secrets.

‘It became to risky, and I had gotten caught,’ said Harry, which was somewhat true; Percy Weasley had once caught Allison and Tracey leaving Myrtle’s bathroom and just barely missed Harry and Theodore. ‘I didn’t want to risk expulsion so I didn’t come back, sorry about that.’

‘Oh...I see...’ said Myrtle, picking at a spot on her chin in a morose sort of way. ‘Well...anyway...I’d try the egg in the water. That’s what Cedric Diggory did.’

‘Have you been spying on him too?’ said Harry indignantly. ‘What d’you do, float up here in the evenings to watch the prefects take baths?’

‘Sometimes,’ said Myrtle, rather slyly, ‘but I’ve never come out to speak to anyone before.’

'I’m honored,’ said Harry darkly to the peeping tom ghost. ‘You keep your eyes shut!’

He made sure Myrtle had her glasses well covered before hoisting himself out of the bath, wrapping the towel firmly around his waist, and going to retrieve the egg. Once he was back in the water, Myrtle peered through her fingers and said, ‘Go on, then...open it under the water!’

Harry lowered the egg beneath the foamy surface and opened it...and this time, it did not wail. A gurgling song was coming out of it, a song whose words he couldn’t distinguish through the water.

‘You need to put your head under too,’ said Myrtle, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying bossing him around. ‘Go on!’

Harry took a great breath and slid under the surface—and now, sitting on the marble bottom of the bubble-filled bath, he heard a chorus of eerie voices singing to him from the open egg in his hands:

‘Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you’re searching ponder this:

We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,

An hour long you’ll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour—the prospect’s black,

Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.’

Harry let himself float back upward and broke the bubbly surface, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

‘Hear it?’ said Myrtle.

‘Yeah...‘Come seek us where our voices sound...’ and if I need persuading...hang on, I need to listen again...’

He sank back beneath the water. It took three more underwater renditions of the egg’s song before Harry had it memorized; then he trod water for a while, thinking hard, while Myrtle sat and watched him.

‘I’ve got to go and look for people who can’t use their voices above the ground...’ he said slowly. ‘Some kind of ground dwelling creatures...?’

‘Slow, aren’t you?’

He had never seen Moaning Myrtle so cheerful, apart from the day when a dose of Polyjuice Potion had given Tracey a furry face and tail of a cat. Harry stared around the bathroom, thinking...if the voices could only be heard underwater, then it made sense for them to belong to underwater creatures. He ran this theory past Myrtle, who smirked at him.

‘Well, that’s what Diggory thought,’ she said. ‘He lay there talking to himself for ages about it. Ages and ages...nearly all the bubbles had gone...’

‘Underwater...’ Harry said slowly. ‘Myrtle...what lives in the lake, apart from the giant squid?’

‘Oh all sorts of creatures,’ she said. ‘I sometimes go down there...sometimes don’t have any choice, if someone flushes my toilet when I’m not expecting it...’

Trying not to think about Moaning Myrtle zooming down a pipe to the lake with the contents of a toilet, Harry said, ‘Well, does anything in there have a humanoid voice? Hang on—‘

Harry’s eyes had fallen on the picture of the snoozing mermaid on the wall. We had only thought the lived in the ocean, he never considered freshwater merpeople existed.

‘Myrtle, there aren’t merpeople in there, are there?’

‘Oooh, very good,’ she said, her thick glasses twinkling, ‘it took Diggory much longer than that! And that was with her awake too’—Myrtle jerked her head toward the mermaid with an expression of great dislike on her glum face—‘giggling and showing off and flashing her fins...’

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ said Harry excitedly. ‘The second task’s to go and find the merpeople in the lake and...and...’

But he suddenly realized what he was saying, and he felt the excitement drain out of him as though someone had just pulled a plug in his stomach. He wasn’t a very good swimmer; he’d never had much practice. There wasn’t a lake near Mould-on-the-Wold Cottage, nor had the Dursley’s given him lessons during his summers there. A couple of lengths of this bath were all very well, but that lake was very large, and very deep...and merpeople would surely live right at the bottom...

‘Myrtle,’ Harry said slowly, ‘how am I supposed to breathe?’

At this, Myrtle’s eyes filled with sudden tears again.

‘Tactless!’ she muttered, groping in her robes for a handkerchief.

‘What’s tactless?’ said Harry, bewildered.

‘Talking about breathing in front of me!’ she said shrilly, and her voice echoed loudly around the bathroom. ‘When I can’t...when I haven’t...not for over fifty years...’

She buried her face in her handkerchief and sniffed loudly. Harry remembered how touchy Myrtle had always been about being dead, but none of the other ghosts he knew made such a fuss about it.

‘Sorry,’ he said impatiently. ‘I didn’t mean—I just forgot...’

‘Oh yes, very easy to forget Myrtle’s dead,’ said Myrtle, gulping, looking at him out of swollen eyes. ‘Nobody missed me even when I was alive. Took them hours and hours to find my body—I know, I was sitting there waiting for them. Olive Hornby came into the bathroom—‘Are you in here again, sulking, Myrtle?’ she said, ‘because Professor Dippet asked me to look for you—’ And then she saw my body...ooooh, she didn’t forget it until her dying day, I made sure of that...followed her around and reminded her, I did. I remember at her brother’s wedding—‘

But Harry wasn’t listening; he was thinking about the merpeople’s song again. ‘We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss.’ That sounded as though they were going to steal something of his, something he had to get back. What were they going to take?

‘—and then, of course, she went to the Ministry of Magic to stop me stalking her, so I had to come back here and live in my toilet.’

‘Good,’ said Harry vaguely. ‘Well, I’m a lot further on than I was...Shut your noisy eyes again, will you? I’m getting out.’

He retrieved the egg from the bottom of the bath, climbed out, dried himself, and pulled on his pajamas and dressing gown again.

‘Will you come and visit me in my bathroom again sometime?’ Moaning Myrtle asked mournfully as Harry picked up the Invisibility Cloak.

‘Er...I’ll try,’ Harry said, though privately thinking the only

way he’d be visiting Myrtle’s bathroom again was if every other toilet in the castle got blocked. ‘See you, Myrtle...thanks for your help.’

‘’Bye, ’bye,” she said gloomily, and as Harry put on the Invisibility Cloak he saw her zoom back up the tap.

Out in the dark corridor, Harry examined the Marauder’s Map to check that the coast was still clear. Yes, the dots belonging to Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris, were safely in their office...nothing else seemed to be moving apart from Peeves, though he was bouncing around the trophy room on the floor above...Harry had taken his first step back toward Slytherin Dungeon when something else on the map caught his eye...something distinctly odd.

Peeves was not the only thing that was moving. A single dot was flitting around a room in the bottom left-hand corner—Snape’s office. But the dot wasn’t labeled “Severus Snape”...it was Bartemius Crouch.

Harry stared at the dot. Mr Crouch was supposed to be too ill to go to work or to come to the Yule Ball—so what was he doing, sneaking into Hogwarts at one o’clock in the morning? Harry watched closely as the dot moved around and around the room, pausing here and there...

Harry hesitated, thinking...and then his curiosity got the better of him. As he approached the staircase to the Dungeons he decided to find out what Crouch was up to instead of going straight to bed.

Harry walked down the stairs as quietly as possible, though the faces in some of the portraits still turned curiously at the squeak of a floorboard, the rustle of his pajamas. He crept along the corridor below, pushed aside a tapestry about halfway along, and proceeded down a narrower staircase, a shortcut that would take him down two floors. He kept glancing down at the map, wondering...It just didn’t seem in character, somehow, for correct, law-abiding Mr Crouch to be sneaking around somebody else’s office this late at night...

And then, halfway down the staircase, not thinking about what he was doing, not concentrating on anything but the peculiar behaviour of Mr Crouch, Harry’s leg suddenly sank right through the trick step even second years knew to avoid. He gave an ungainly wobble, and the golden egg, still damp from the bath, slipped from under his arm. He lurched forward to try and catch it, but too late; the egg fell down the long staircase with a bang as loud as a bass drum on every step—the Invisibility Cloak slipped—Harry snatched at it, and the Marauder’s Map fluttered out of his hand and slid down six stairs, where, sunk in the step to above his knee, he couldn’t reach it.

The golden egg fell through the tapestry at the bottom of the staircase, burst open, and began wailing loudly in the corridor below. Harry pulled out his wand and struggled to touch the Marauder’s Map, to wipe it blank, but it was too far away to reach—

Pulling the cloak back over himself Harry straightened up, listening hard with his eyes screwed up with fear...and, almost immediately—

‘PEEVES!’

It was the unmistakable hunting cry of Filch the caretaker. Harry could hear his rapid, shuffling footsteps coming nearer and nearer, his wheezy voice raised in fury.

‘What’s this racket? Wake up the whole castle, will you? I’ll have you, Peeves, I’ll have you, you’ll...and what is this?’

Filch’s footsteps halted; there was a clink of metal on metal and the wailing stopped—Filch had picked up the egg and closed it. Harry stood very still, one leg still jammed tightly in the magical step, listening. Any moment now, Filch was going to pull aside the tapestry, expecting to see Peeves...and there would be no Peeves...but if he came up the stairs, he would spot the Marauder’s Map...and Invisibility Cloak or not, the map would show “Harry Potter” standing exactly where he was.

‘Egg?’ Filch said quietly at the foot of the stairs. ‘My sweet!’— Mrs Norris was obviously with him—‘This is a Triwizard clue! This belongs to a school champion!’

Harry felt sick; his heart was hammering very fast—‘PEEVES!’ Filch roared gleefully. ‘You’ve been stealing!’

He ripped back the tapestry below, and Harry saw his horrible, pouchy face and bulging, pale eyes staring up the dark and (to Filch) deserted staircase.

‘Hiding, are you?’ he said softly. ‘I’m coming to get you, Peeves...You’ve gone and stolen a Triwizard clue, Peeves...Dumbledore’ll have you out of here for this, you filthy, pilfering poltergeist...’

Filch started to climb the stairs, his scrawny, dust-colored cat at his heels. Mrs Norris’s lamp-like eyes, so very like her master’s, were fixed directly upon Harry. He had had occasion before now to wonder whether the Invisibility Cloak worked fully on cats...Sick with apprehension, he watched Filch drawing nearer and nearer in his old flannel dressing gown—he tried desperately to pull his trapped leg free, but it merely sank a few more inches—any second now, Filch was going to spot the map or walk right into him—

‘Filch? What’s going on?’

Filch stopped a few steps below Harry and turned. At the foot of the stairs stood the only person who could make Harry’s situation worse: Snape. He was wearing a long gray nightshirt and he looked livid.

‘It’s Peeves, Professor,’ Filch whispered malevolently. ‘He threw this egg down the stairs.’

Snape climbed up the stairs quickly and stopped beside Filch. Harry gritted his teeth, convinced his loudly thumping heart would give him away at any second...

‘Peeves?’ said Snape softly, staring at the egg in Filch’s hands. ‘But Peeves couldn’t get into my office...’

‘This egg was in your office, Professor?’

‘Of course not,’ Snape snapped. ‘I heard banging and wailing—‘

‘Yes, Professor, that was the egg—‘

‘—I was coming to investigate—‘

‘—Peeves threw it, Professor—‘

‘—and when I passed my office, I saw that the torches were lit

and a cupboard door was ajar! Somebody has been searching it!’

‘But Peeves couldn’t—‘

‘I know he couldn’t, Filch!’ Snape snapped again. ‘I now seal my office with a spell none but a wizard could break!’ Snape looked up the stairs, straight through Harry, and then down into the corridor below. ‘I want you to come and help me search for the intruder, Filch.’

‘I—yes, Professor—but—‘

Filch looked yearningly up the stairs, right through Harry, who could see that he was very reluctant to forgo the chance of cornering Peeves. Go, Harry pleaded with him silently, go with Snape...go...Mrs Norris was peering around Filch’s legs...Harry had the distinct impression that she could smell or hear him....Why had he filled that bath with so much perfumed foam? Why did his heart beat so loud?

‘The thing is, Professor,’ said Filch plaintively, ‘the headmaster will have to listen to me this time. Peeves has been stealing from a student, it might be my chance to get him thrown out of the castle once and for all—‘

‘Filch, I don’t give a damn about that wretched poltergeist; it’s my office that’s—‘

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Snape stopped talking very abruptly. He and Filch both looked down at the foot of the stairs. Harry saw Mad-Eye Moody limp into sight through the narrow gap between their heads. Moody was wearing his old traveling cloak over his nightshirt and leaning on his staff as usual.

‘Pajama party, is it?’ he growled up the stairs.

‘Professor Snape and I heard noises, Professor,’ said Filch at once. ‘Peeves the Poltergeist, throwing things around as usual—and then Professor Snape discovered that someone had broken into his off—‘

‘Shut up!’ Snape hissed to Filch.

Moody took a step closer to the foot of the stairs. Harry saw Moody’s magical eye travel over Snape, and then, unmistakably, onto himself.

Harry’s heart gave a horrible jolt. Moody could see through Invisibility Cloaks...he alone could see the full strangeness of the scene: Snape in his nightshirt, Filch clutching the egg, and he, Harry, trapped in the stairs behind them. Moody’s lopsided gash of a mouth opened in surprise. For a few seconds, he and Harry stared straight into each other’s eyes. Then Moody closed his mouth and turned his blue eye upon Snape again.

‘Did I hear that correctly, Snape?’ he asked slowly. ‘Someone broke into your office?’

‘It is unimportant,’ said Snape coldly.

‘On the contrary,’ growled Moody, ‘it is very important. Who’d want to break into your office?’

‘A student, I daresay,’ said Snape. Harry could see a vein flickering horribly on Snape’s greasy temple. ‘It has happened before. Potion ingredients have gone missing from my private store cupboard...students attempting illicit mixtures, no doubt...’

‘Reckon they were after potion ingredients, eh?’ said Moody. ‘Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?’

Harry saw the edge of Snape’s sallow face turn a nasty brick color, the vein in his temple pulsing more rapidly.

‘You know I’m hiding nothing, Moody,’ he said in a soft and dangerous voice, ‘as you’ve searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself.’

Moody’s face twisted into a smile. ‘Auror’s privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye—‘

‘Dumbledore happens to trust me,’ said Snape through clenched teeth. ‘I refuse to believe that he gave you orders to search my office!’

‘’Course Dumbledore trusts you,’ growled Moody. ‘He’s a trusting man, isn’t he? Believes in second chances. But me—I say there are spots that don’t come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d’you know what I mean?’

Snape suddenly did something very strange. He seized his left forearm convulsively with his right hand, as though something on it had hurt him.

Moody laughed. ‘Get back to bed, Snape.’

‘You don’t have the authority to send me anywhere!’ Snape hissed, letting go of his arm as though angry with himself. ‘I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!’

‘Prowl away,’ said Moody, but his voice was full of menace. ‘I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time...You’ve dropped something, by the way...’

With a stab of horror, Harry saw Moody point at the Marauder’s Map, still lying on the staircase six steps below him. As Snape and Filch both turned to look at it, Harry threw caution to the winds; he raised his arms under the cloak and waved furiously at Moody to attract his attention, mouthing ‘It’s mine! Mine!’

Snape had reached out for it, a horrible expression of dawning comprehension on his face—

‘Accio Parchment!’

The map flew up into the air, slipped through Snape’s outstretched fingers, and soared down the stairs into Moody’s hand.

‘My mistake,’ Moody said calmly. ‘It’s mine—must’ve dropped it earlier—‘

But Snape’s black eyes were darting from the egg in Filch’s arms to the map in Moody’s hand, and Harry could tell he was putting two and two together, as only Snape could...

‘Potter,’ he said quietly.

‘What’s that?’ said Moody calmly, folding up the map and pocketing it.

‘Potter!’ Snape snarled, and he actually turned his head and stared right at the place where Harry was, as though he could suddenly see him. ‘That egg is Potter’s egg. That piece of parchment belongs to Potter. I have seen it before, I recognize it! Potter is here! Potter, in his Invisibility Cloak!’

Snape stretched out his hands like a blind man and began to move up the stairs; Harry could have sworn his over-large nostrils were dilating, trying to sniff Harry out—trapped, Harry leaned backward, trying to avoid Snape’s fingertips, but any moment now—

‘There’s nothing there, Snape!’ barked Moody, ‘but I’ll be happy to tell the headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to Harry Potter! One of your own!’

‘Meaning what?’ Snape turned again to look at Moody, his hands still outstretched, inches from Harry’s chest.

‘Meaning that Dumbledore’s very interested to know who’s got it in for that boy!’ said Moody, limping nearer still to the foot of the stairs.

‘And so am I, Snape...very interested...’

The torch-light flickered across his mangled face, so that the scars, and the chunk missing from his nose, looked deeper and darker than ever.

Snape was looking down at Moody, and Harry couldn’t see the expression on his face. For a moment, nobody moved or said anything. Then Snape slowly lowered his hands.

‘I merely thought,’ said Snape, in a voice of forced calm, ‘that if Potter was wandering around after hours again...it’s an unfortunate habit of his...he should be stopped. For—for his own safety.’

‘Ah, I see,’ said Moody softly. ‘Got Potter’s best interests at heart, have you? Looking out for a fellow Slytherin?’

There was a pause. Snape and Moody were still staring at each other. Mrs Norris gave a loud meow, still peering around Filch’s legs, looking for the source of Harry’s bubble-bath smell.

‘I think I will go back to bed,’ Snape said curtly.

‘Best idea you’ve had all night,’ said Moody. ‘Now, Filch, if you’ll just give me that egg—‘

‘No!’ said Filch, clutching the egg as though it were his first-born son. ‘Professor Moody, this is evidence of Peeves’ treachery!’

‘It’s the property of the champion he stole it from,’ said Moody. ‘Hand it over, now.’

Snape swept downstairs and passed Moody without another

word. Filch made a chirruping noise to Mrs Norris, who stared blankly at Harry for a few more seconds before turning and following her master. Still breathing very fast, Harry heard Snape walking away down the corridor; Filch handed Moody the egg and disappeared from view too, muttering to Mrs Norris. ‘Never mind, my sweet...we’ll see Dumbledore in the morning...tell him what Peeves was up to...’

A door slammed. Harry was left staring down at Moody, who placed his staff on the bottommost stair and started to climb laboriously toward him, a dull clunk on every other step.

‘Close shave, Potter,’ he muttered.

‘Yeah...I—er...thanks Professor,’ said Harry weakly.

‘What is this thing?’ said Moody, drawing the Marauders Map out of his pocket and unfolding it.

‘Map of Hogwarts,’ said Harry, hoping Moody was going to pull him out of the staircase soon; his leg was really hurting him. ‘Made by my father and my two adoptive fathers.’

‘Merlin’s beard,’ Moody whispered, staring at the map, his magical eye going haywire. ‘This...this is some map, Potter!’

‘Yeah, it’s...quite useful,’ Harry said. His eyes were starting to water from the pain. ‘Er—Professor Moody, d’you think you could help me—?’

‘What? Oh! Yes...yes, of course...’

Moody took hold of Harry’s arms and pulled; Harry’s leg came free of the trick step, and he climbed onto the one above it. Moody was still gazing at the map.

‘Potter...’ he said slowly, ‘you didn’t happen, by any chance, to see who broke into Snape’s office, did you? On this map, I mean?’

‘Er...yeah, I did...' Harry admitted. 'I don't know how, but it was Mr Crouch.'

Moody’s magical eye whizzed over the entire surface of the map. He looked suddenly alarmed.

'Crouch?' he said. 'You’re—you’re sure, Potter?'

'Positive,' said Harry.

'Well, he’s not here anymore,' said Moody, his eye still whizzing over the map. 'Crouch...that’s very—very interesting...'

He said nothing for almost a minute, still staring at the map. Harry could tell that this news meant something to Moody and very much wanted to know what it was. He wondered whether he dared ask. Even though Moody knew Remus, Harry was still scared him slightly...yet Moody had just helped him avoid an awful lot of trouble...

'Er...Professor Moody...why d’you reckon Mr Crouch wanted to look around Snape’s office?'

Moody’s magical eye left the map and fixed, quivering, upon Harry. It was a penetrating glare, and Harry had the impression that Moody was sizing him up, wondering whether to answer or not, or how much to tell him.

'Put it this way, Potter,' Moody muttered finally, 'they say old Mad-Eye’s obsessed with catching Dark wizards...but I’m nothing—nothing—compared to Barty Crouch.'

He continued to stare at the map. Harry was burning to know more.

'Professor Moody?' he said again. 'D’you think...could this have anything to do with...maybe Mr Crouch thinks there’s something going on...like with the tournament...'

'Like what?' said Moody sharply.

Harry wondered how much he dare say. He didn’t want Moody to guess that his parents were telling him things he probably shouldn't know.

'I don’t know,' Harry muttered, 'odd stuff’s been happening lately, hasn’t it? It’s been in the Daily Prophet...the Dark Mark at the World Cup, and the Death Eaters returning, and my name being entered...'

Both of Moody’s mismatched eyes widened.

'You’re a sharp boy, Potter,' he said. His magical eye roved back to the Marauder’s Map. 'Crouch could be thinking along those lines,' he said slowly. 'Very possible...there have been some funny rumors flying around lately—helped along by Rita Skeeter, of course. It’s making a lot of people nervous, I reckon.' A grim smile twisted his lopsided mouth.

'Oh if there’s one thing I hate,” he muttered, more to himself than to Harry, and his magical eye was fixed on the left-hand corner of the map, 'it’s a Death Eater who walked free...'

Harry stared at him. Could Moody possibly mean what Harry thought he meant?

'And now I want to ask you a question, Potter,' said Moody in a more businesslike tone.

Harry’s heart sank; he had thought this was coming. Moody was going to ask what he was doing up so late, or why he was in possession of the likely illegal Marauder's Map. Moody might have saved him from expulsion by Snape and Filch, but Harry knew he wasn't getting away without some punishment—

'Can I borrow this?'

'Oh!' said Harry, very surprised.

He was very fond of his map, but on the other hand, he was extremely relieved that Moody wasn’t giving him detention, and there was no doubt that he owed Moody a favor.

'Yeah, okay.'

'Good boy,' growled Moody. 'I can make good use of this...this might be exactly what I’ve been looking for...Right, bed, Potter, come on, now...'

Moody escorted him to the bottom of the stairs, he was still examining the map as though it was a treasure the like of which he had never seen before. They walked in silence to the enchanted wall, where he stopped and looked up at Harry.

'You ever thought of a career as an Auror, Potter?'

'No,' said Harry, taken aback. But after a moment it didn't feel like such a shock, Remus had been an amazing auror before he was found out, and his cousin Nymphadora was one as well, heroic auror's were part of his family and it might be nice to be one too.

'You want to consider it,' said Moody, nodding and looking at Harry thoughtfully. 'Yes, indeed...and incidentally...I’m guessing you weren’t just taking that egg for a walk tonight?'

'Er—no,' said Harry, grinning. 'I’ve been working out the clue.'

Moody winked at him, his magical eye going haywire again. 'Nothing like a nighttime stroll to give you ideas, Potter...See you in the morning...'

He turned around and headed back towards the stairs while staring down at the Marauder’s Map again.

Harry entered the common room than sat down in one of the stone chairs, lost in thought about Snape, and Crouch, and what it all meant...Why was Crouch pretending to be ill, if he could manage to get to Hogwarts when he wanted to? What did he think Snape was concealing in his office?

And Moody thought he, Harry, ought to be an Auror! An interesting idea he'd have to think about...but for now Harry's mind was stuck on the clue from the egg, how could he find the merpeople if he couldn't even hold his breath for a minute.

Today’s 3 are…

Argus Filch

Peter Pettigrew

Dolores Umbridge

Yes, I know, I’m evil.

No loopholes, regular kiss on the lips, marriage until death (no killing your partner, divorcing them etc)

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003542001

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003544638

Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003545843

Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003547854

Chapter 5: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003549721

Chapter 6: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003559703

Chapter 7: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003560187

Chapter 8: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003561978

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @ShadowDragonfireWolffang @HRRYPTTERFN234

Chapter Nine: The Deathday Party

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, 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 afterwards. Someone who could not get Pepperup Potion was Canini, she had written about all that she had learned and how well her Russian was getting, but that she had caught a cold from the freezing temperatures and the school’s doctor didn’t treat anything unless it got very serious. He sent a package of a couple sweets he had been holding onto and wrote saying to just hang on a couple more months.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. An unmeasurable amount of rain and mud couldn’t stop Marcus Flint however from drilling them in Quidditch until they practically lived, breathed, and sleeped Quidditch.

It was after one of these practices on a rainy Friday afternoon a week before Hallowe’en Harry and Allison, passing through the Entrance Hall to get to Slytherin dungeon, were completely drenched to the skin and splattered with mud. Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn’t been a happy practice session. Mid practice they realized they had been spies on and Marcus had to chase the guilty parties away, but never saw who it was.

As the two young Quidditch players hurried inside they came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as they were. The Gryffindor’s ghost, Sir Nicholas, also called Nearly Headless Nick by his house, was staring morosely at the ground as he floated along, muttering under his breath, ‘...I can’t believe this...not my fault the axe was dull...’

Harry didn’t like his own house’s ghost, but he tried to be friendly with the others when he saw them.

‘Hello Sir Nicholas.’

He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost com- pletely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the stone wall beside him.

The ghost looked up, ‘Sorry children, didn’t see you there. Harry Potter, right? And I don’t believe I have been introduced to you miss.’

‘Runcorn, Allison Runcorn, Sir.’

‘You look troubled, young players,’ said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

‘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 fulfil 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,’ said Harry, who didn’t mean to get into the ghosts troubles but now didn’t want to appear as rude.

‘I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would 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 have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate 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 fulfil our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.’

Harry was still processing the hit forty-five time comment when a fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.

‘Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Mr Potter! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh no, it’s not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore.’

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, 'So, what's bothering you two? Anything I can do?'

'No,' said Harry. 'It has just been a really rough couple days with the rain, training, and so many people getting si-'

The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched meowing turning the corner. Harry turned and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, who was in an endless battle against the students.

'You and Ms Runcorn should probably leave,' said Nick quickly. 'Filch isn't in a good mood-he's got the flu and is grumpy from having to clean a lot of mud lately, if he sees you dripping even more mud all over the place-'

'Right,' said Harry, backing away from the dirrection Mrs. Norris was comming from, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch quickly turned the corner, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rulebreaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

‘Filch!’ he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry and Allison, Quidditch robes. ‘Mess and muck everywhere! I have had enough of this constant filth. You kids have no respect. Potter, Runcorn, follow me!’

So with their heads low Harry and Allison followed Filch through the winding corridors. Harry did think it was ironic though, that by leading them further into the castle him and Allison were increasing the amount of mud on the floor.

Harry nor Allison had ever been inside Filch’s office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch’s desk. He often complained to those that he punished that long ago Hogwart’s used to suspend students by their ankles for several hours and Dumbledore won’t let him reinstate the punishment.

‘Filth,’ he muttered very frustratingly, ‘so much filth and grime everywhere...I’m sick of it...where are those report forms...yes...’

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dripping his long black quill into the ink pot.

‘Names...Harry Potter and Allison Runcorn...Crime...’

‘We did nothing wrong, we didn’t drag mud in on purpose.’ Allison protested, pretty fed up with their situation.

‘You may think it’s nothing, children, but to me it’s an extra hour scrubbing!’ shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. ‘Crime...befouling the castle corridors...suggested sentence...’

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry, who with bated breath for his sentence. He would reluctantly be willing to just clean up the mud trail they left, but knowing Filch he’d give a punishment far worse than their offence.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

‘PEEVES!’ Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. ‘I’ll have you this time, I’ll have you!’

And without a backwards glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs Norris streaking alongside him to chase away the school’s poltergeist.

Harry didn’t much like Peeves, but couldn’t help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he’d wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harry.

‘We should leave,’ Allison said with annoyance on her round face, ‘This place reminds me too much of my dad’s office.’

‘No, we should stay,’ Harry said after thinking a moment, ‘If we aren’t here when he returns he might double our punishment for evading arrest.’

Allison begrudgingly agreed and sat on top of one of the filing cabinets and Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn’t on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read:

“Kwikspell

A Correspondence Course in Beginners’ Magic”

Intrigued, Harry’s curiosity got the best of him and he carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page.

“Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?

There is an answer!

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!

Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:

‘I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the centre of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!’

Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says:

‘My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!’”

Fascinated, Harry quickly showed it to Allison who chuckled a bit at its contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn’t a proper wizard? Allison was just reading out loud ‘Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)’ when shuffling footsteps outside told them Filch was coming back. Quickly stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant.

‘That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!’ he was saying gleefully to Mrs Norris. ‘Their is only two in the whole castle, we’ll have Peeves out this time, my sweet.’

His eyes fell on the two of them and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope which, Harry realised too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.

Filch’s pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope and threw it into a drawer.

‘Have you–did you read–?’ he spluttered.

‘No,’ Harry lied quickly. Allison shuck her head to also say no.

Filch’s knobbly hands were twisting together.

‘If I thought you’d read my private...not that it’s mine...for a friend...be that as it may...however...’

Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks and the tartan scarf didn’t help. Allison looked as though she was trying her best to be a statue as to not give him a single reason to react.

‘Very well...go...and don’t breathe a word...not that...however, if you didn’t read...go now, I have to write up Peeves’ report... go ...’

Amazed at their luck, the two friends sped out of the office, up the corridor and back to the Entrance Hall where this all started. To escape from Filch’s office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

‘Harry! Harry! Did it work?’

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet which appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

‘I decided to help and so I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch’s office,’ said Sir Nicholas eagerly. ‘Thought it might distract him–’

‘Was that you?’ said Harry gratefully. ‘Yeah, it worked, we didn’t even get detention. Thanks, Sir Nick!’

As a thank you Harry and Allison decided to spend the next little while talking to Sir Nicholas, Allison hadn’t really interacted with him before so she had many questions and he had many answers. Nearly Headless Nick however, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick’s rejection letter.

‘I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt,’ Harry said genuinely concerned.

Nearly Headless Nick went still, and looked as though he were contemplating something. Finally he carefully spoke.

‘But there is something you could do for me,’ said Nick, a little bit excited. ‘Harry–would I be asking too much–but no, you wouldn’t want–’

‘What is it?’ said Harry.

‘Well, this Hallowe’en will be my five hundredth deathday,’ said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

‘Oh,’ said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this. ‘Right.’

‘I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if you would attend. Miss Allison and any of your close friends would be most welcome too, of course–but I dare say you’d rather go to the school feast?’ He watched Harry on tenterhooks.

‘No,’ said Harry quickly, ‘I’ll come–’

‘I can’t believe it! Harry Potter, at my Deathday Party! And,’ he hesitated, looking excited, ‘do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?’

‘Of–of course,’ said Harry.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.

Harry and Allison then said their goodbyes and headed down to the Slytherin common room.

‘Sorry, Allison,’ Harry finally said, ‘I should have asked if you wanted to go before I agreed.’

‘It’s ok, it seems interesting.’

They arrived at the enchanted wall and entered their underwater stone dormitory. They found Theodore and Tracey and filled them in on what happened.

‘Well this death day party sounds intriguing,’ said a focused Theodore, ‘If I have all my homework done I think I’ll go, it will be interesting to see this ghost custom.’

Tracey however shivered, ‘I don’t know, it sounds like there’ll be lots of decapitated ghosts, a nearly decapitated one is enough for me.’

In their cold, dark common room, only lit by a dozen enchanted lanterns, Harry explained the other event that had occurred. How they had been caught by Filch and barely escaped, Harry did leave out the part about the letter though, as if a rumour spread Filch would know who started it.

By the time Hallowe’en arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the Deathday Party. The rest of the school were happily anticipating the annual delicious Hallowe’en 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.

‘Harry, don’t chicken out,’ Allison said bossily. ‘If you aren’t at the Deathday Party Sir Nicholas will probably be upset, and we can’t afford another spirit being mad at us.’

So, at seven o’clock, Harry, Theodore, and Allison walked straight past the stairway that would have lead the the Great Hall, and directed their steps instead towards the dungeon Sir Nicholas had specified.

Before they got far a familiar voice called out to them.

‘Wait,’ said Tracey, ‘I am coming. My curiosity got the better of me.’

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick’s party had been lined with candles, though they weren’t the cheerful ones found upstairs: 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 Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

‘What is that horrible noice?’ Theodore asked, covering his ears.

‘I think it’s supposed to be music?’ Allison responded.

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 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.

‘This is incredible,’ Theodore whispered.

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

‘Yes, but probably best we don’t walk through anyone,’ said Tracey, still a bit nervous, 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, the cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn’t surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, their gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver blood-stains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

‘Stop,’ said Tracey and Allison in unison, then Allison continued. ‘Turn around, turn around, we do not want to have to interact with Moaning Myrtle–’

‘Who?’ said Harry, as they backtracked quickly.

‘She is this crazy depressed ghost that haunts one of the girls’ toilets,’ said Tracey.

‘She haunts a toilet?’

‘Yes. And she’s been throwing such bad tantrums this year that no one has been using it, that and she keeps flooding the place. I do feel sorry for her sometimes though.’

‘I’m starving,’ Harry interrupted, ‘Does anyone see food?’

Tracey pointed to the other side of the dungeon were there was a long table, also covered in black velvet.

They approached it eagerly, but soon 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 mould 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

Harry 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 through it?’ Harry asked him curiously.

‘Almost,’ said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

‘They must have let it rot to try and give it a stronger flavour,’ Theorized Theodore while pinching his nose in disgust.

‘Theo, stop talking. We got to move or I am going to vomit,’ said Allison queasily.

They barely had time to turn around before a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in mid-air in front of them.

‘Hello, Peeves,’ said Harry very 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.

‘We’re not really hungry right now Peeves,’ said Allison, still trying to hold her food down.

‘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!’

‘Peeves, you bloody monster, don’t tell her what we said, she’ll scream the rest of the semester,’ Tracey whispered in a panic. ‘Oh no, she’s floating this way–um, Happy Hallowe’en, Myrtle.’

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

‘What?’ she said sulkily.

‘I said Happy Hallowe’en, Myrtle?’ said Tracey, trying to sound her cheery self but failing. ‘I don’t see you out of the bathroom often.’

Myrtle simply sniffled.

‘Miss Davis and Runcorn was just talking about you–’ said Peeves slyly in Myrtle’s ear.

‘They were just saying–saying–how well the blue candlelight reflects off your glasses,’ Harry said quickly to the miserable ghost, staring at Peeves with a look begging him not to keep talking.

Myrtle eyed them all suspiciously.

‘You’re making fun of me,’ she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

‘We weren’t–I promise–Theo, didn’t I just tell Harry how nice Myrtle’s glasses look in this light?’ said Tracey desperate.

‘Oh yes, Tracey is a kind soul,’ Theodore said very quickly.

‘She really did,’ said Harry before being cut off.

‘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 missed out “spotty”,’ 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, ‘Spotty! Spotty!’

‘That was depressing,’ Tracey said with a lot of guilt in her voice.

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted towards them through the crowd.

‘Enjoying yourselves?’

‘We are,’ they all lied.

‘Not a bad turnout,’ said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. ‘The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent.’ He then tipped his hat to Tracey and Theodore, ‘You must be Harry’s friends, not often I meet friendly Slytherins. You two are?’

‘I am Theo Nott, and this is Tracey Davis.’

‘Good to meet you both...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; 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 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, Tracey, Allison, and Theodore 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 with purpose, remembering why he’s there and that he might not get another opportunity afterwards, ‘Nick’s very–frightening and–er–it’s not his fault their is still a thread of flesh keeping his head on.’

‘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 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 Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

Harry felt very sorry for Sir Nicholas, this was supposed to be his special day, but Harry was very cold now, and despite the stench of the room he was quite hungry.

‘Harry, I think I need some fresh air,’ Allison muttered, her teeth chattering and her skin a sickly green, ‘The cold and the smell are really starting to get to me.’

So as the orchestra started to play again and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor, Harry and his gang turned to the way they came.

‘Let’s go,’ Harry agreed.

They backed towards 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.

‘I’ll take Allison outside for some fresh air and perhaps to vomit,’ Harry said, getting a bit tired from the evenings activities, ‘You too go to the Hall and get a couple plates of food to bring down to our dormitories to eat.’

Tracey and Theodore nodded and they all started making the journey up the stairs. They had just made it about half way up when Harry heard it.

‘...rip...tear...kill...’

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart’s office.

He 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, you faint now too–?’ Asked Theodore all concerned.

‘It’s that voice again–shut up a minute–’

‘...soo hungry...for so long...’

‘Listen!’ said Harry urgently, and his three friends froze, watching him.

‘...kill...time to kill...’

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away, that it was moving upwards. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upwards? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn’t matter?

‘This way,’ he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the Entrance Hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Hallowe’en feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Tracey and Theodore clattering behind him.

‘Harry, where are you go–’

‘SHH!’

Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice:

‘...I smell blood...I SMELL BLOOD!’

His stomach lurched. ‘It’s going to kill someone!’ he shouted, and ignoring his two friend’s bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps.

Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Theodore and Tracey panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

‘Theo, what did Harry mean by voices, and can we slow down so poor Ally can catch up?’ said Tracey, catching her breath. Theodore then turned to her

‘I don’t know, he had a nightmare last month, but I didn’t hear anything then and I didn’t hear anything...’ But Theodore was interrupted by the caught up Allison giving a sudden gasp. It wasn’t a gasp of catching one’s breath however, it was a gasp of shock. Still as pale as the ghosts they had just left behind, Allison pointed down the corridor.

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They 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.

‘Something – something is hanging below?’ said Harry with a quivering voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped over: there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Tracey and Theodore grabbed him, and they inched towards the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of them 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, they didn’t move. Then Allison finally threw up the little food that was in side her.

After a couple seconds of Allison hurling, Theodore shakingly turned to Harry, ‘We need to get out of here, right now!’

‘Theo,’ Tracey said with a start, ‘Shouldn’t we try and find a teacher–’ Harry nodded in agreement awkwardly, but Theodore quickly shook his head.

‘We can’t risk it,’ he started. ‘We are Slytherin’s, they’ll immediately think we did it, that and me and you Harry are already on incredibly thin ice. We have to move.’

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they 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. Harry, Tracey, Theodore, and a now empty Allison 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 Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd to get a better look, his cold eyes alive with realization, his usually bloodless face flushed as he grinned at the sight of the poor hanging, immobile cat.

Filch: Uh, Hermione, Snape wants to see you in detention

Hermione: What......?

Also Filch: *Forcefully takes Hermione to detention with Snape*

Hermione's hand are tied on the desk

Hermione (screams): AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH-

Snape slams the desk with his hands, his face is close to Hermione's.

Snape: Shut up!

Hermione is now feeling threatened.

Welp, pretty weird for a short meme I guess. But I love memes, that's why I made this

Because I saw that nobody noticed, I felt like posting it (Even though I hate Filch)

I wanted to add Sprout but FaceApp kept saying that she’s a male. Lol.

(I’d advise skipping those between Hagrid and the Malfoys if you don’t want to be scarred for life.)

Slughorn:

Snape:

Hagrid:

Flitwick (scary, right?):

McGonagall:

Pomfrey:

Filch:

The Malfoy family (and one background Death Eater):

Lucius Malfoy:

Someone please give me a request!

I’m running out of ideas.

(I’ve done Golden Trio, Draco, Silver Trio, Voldemort, the Marauders, Lily Potter, Fred and George and Tonks.)