Sir Nicholas, of course, referred to Nearly Headless Nick—the one who’d invited Harry Potter and his friends to the party.
Only now did Harry learn his full name from Draco.
But this wasn’t the time to dwell on that...
“Why are you here?”
“...”
“...”
Draco completely ignored him, and Harry’s face flushed with anger.
“Ahem, what are you even doing here? Isn’t it Halloween today?”
“Mm... let’s just say I have a special reason. But you—this party really isn’t meant for the living.”
Seeing Hermione, who had looked so frightened just moments ago, now walking up to him in delight made Draco pause. Were they really that close?
But he quickly set that question aside—what piqued his curiosity more was why Hermione was here in the first place.
This was a party meant for ghosts. Neither the food nor the music was suitable for the living. If he didn’t have a reason, Draco wouldn’t be caught dead at something like this...
“It’s mainly because—”
“Hermione, it’s about time. We should go in.”
Hermione had approached Draco in hopes of easing the tension for Harry, but she hadn’t realized that doing so made Harry feel even more uncomfortable.
The hostility Harry tried to suppress still leaked through, and Draco noticed it instantly. His eyes narrowed slightly at the obvious attempt to intervene, but he simply shrugged and stepped aside.
Seeing this, Hermione felt a strange panic rise inside her. As she stared at Draco, a flicker of worry crossed her eyes.
Just as she bit her lip, about to say something, a ghost drifted around the corner and cut her off...
“Oh, my dear child! Harry Potter, attending my Deathday Party—how wonderful! I’m sure you’ll all have a splendid time!”
“Oh... I’m looking forward to it, Nick.”
The ghost was none other than Sir Nicholas himself—the same Nearly Headless Nick who had extended the invitation.
Harry could only return a polite smile. He wasn’t sure if he should agree with the ghost’s enthusiasm. So far, he just wanted to leave.
Next to him, Hermione rolled her eyes subtly, then glanced over toward Draco...
“Eh? Where did he go?”
She had just been about to complain to Draco about Harry agreeing to someone else’s invitation without checking with them first—but now Draco was gone. Just moments ago, he’d been standing right there. Now, he’d vanished.
A little disappointed, Hermione began scanning the hall for any sign of him.
But Draco was nowhere to be found. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air…
…
Sir Nicholas held his Deathday Party in a classroom deep beneath the castle.
At the moment, hundreds of pale, translucent figures floated through the overcrowded dance floor, drifting and waltzing to the eerie, trembling screech of thirty musical saws.
The band sat atop a stage draped in black cloth, while above them, a chandelier holding a thousand candles cast an eerie midnight-blue light.
Anyone unprepared would’ve been scared out of their wits by the sight...
Hermione watched it all with a strange mix of curiosity and unease, her eyes subtly scanning the crowd for a certain infuriating someone.
Harry, standing beside her, hadn’t noticed Hermione’s distracted state. He was busy making polite conversation with Nearly Headless Nick, trying to find the right moment to offer a quick “congratulations” and make his exit.
“The turnout’s quite good. The Wailing Widow came all the way from Kent… Ah, it’s nearly time for my speech—I’d better speak with the band.”
“Nic—”
But Sir Nicholas seemed to be in a hurry. After briefly chatting with Harry, he floated off in another direction, leaving Harry no chance to excuse himself.
With a sigh, Harry glanced over at Peeves, who was tormenting Moaning Myrtle nearby. Her tearful retreat from the dungeon made Harry’s lips twitch involuntarily.
“Hermione, let’s just go. Hopefully, there’s still some pumpkin pie left in the Great Hall.”
Seeing twelve ghostly horses appear across the room, Harry figured now was the perfect time to leave. The attention of every ghost had shifted to the headless horsemen—they must’ve been big names among the dead.
“Hermione?”
“Ah… yeah.”
Snapping out of it, Hermione realized she’d completely forgotten about Harry’s presence. A flicker of irritation surfaced.
Why was she even concerned about where that guy had gone—or why he’d shown up here at all?
Without anyone noticing, the two living guests quietly slipped away...
...
Tap, tap, tap!
As they walked through the deserted corridor, only their own footsteps echoed in the silence.
Maybe it was the relief of leaving such a creepy place, but compared to before, Hermione and Harry now moved with lighter steps, their faces more relaxed.
At least, that’s what they thought...
[Rip...]
Thud!
Harry came to a sudden stop, making Hermione blink in confusion behind him.
“Harry, what is it?”
“Hermione… didn’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
[He’s… here.]
“Harry, you—”
“Don’t speak!!”
“…??”
[Kill him…]
“This way!”
“Huh?!”
Without warning, Harry bolted forward. Hermione froze in shock before quickly chasing after him, her heart pounding. She didn’t know what had happened, but the fear and excitement on Harry’s face hadn’t escaped her notice.
They ran until they rounded a corner and finally came to a stop...
“Huff… Harry, what’s—”
Still catching her breath, Hermione was just about to ask when the sight before her made her heart skip a beat.
There, on the wall in front of them, something shimmered under the flickering torchlight. As they approached, they saw it was writing—smudged, smeared, but unmistakable—glowing faintly beneath the flames.
Just a few large words… but enough to send a chill down the spine.
[The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.]
[Enemies of the Heir…]
[Beware.]
And hanging stiffly beneath the torch sconce, swaying ever so slightly—
Was the limp body of a cat.