After everyone had eaten their fill, the pumpkins carved into lanterns in the Great Hall suddenly flickered out all at once.
Neville, sitting beside Dylan, gave a startled jump.
"What's going on…?"
"Don't worry, it's just a performance," Dylan said softly.
Neville nodded, calming down a bit.
At that moment, tendrils of icy mist began to rise from the cracks in the marble floor. The flames on the candelabras tilted eerily to one side, and countless distorted shadows danced across the walls.
Then, wisps of translucent silver mist drifted out from behind the tapestries, slowly coalescing into the figure of an old ghost wearing a tall hat. With a gentle tap in the air, he summoned hundreds of ghostly blue flames that floated around the pumpkins.
The eerie blue light cascaded from the ceiling, transforming the Great Hall into something resembling a moonlit graveyard.
Dozens of ghosts emerged from beneath the long tables where the students sat, gliding into the aisles to perform a medieval court dance. The star of the show, of course, was Nearly Headless Nick.
His head hung at an awkward angle, barely attached to his neck by a thin, web-like thread of ghostly flesh.
"Ladies and gentlemen, behold!" Nick's voice echoed hollowly from his empty chest.
As he spoke, the air in the Great Hall seemed to twist, accompanied by a swelling chorus of classical music from some unseen source, growing ever more intense.
It was as if time had rewound a hundred years.
The young witches and wizards from all four houses gasped and laughed, watching as Nick was dragged to a ghostly chopping block by an executioner, a gleaming axe raised high.
The music reached its crescendo as the axe fell.
Of course, Nick was fine—his head was already nearly off, after all. The ghostly axe couldn't sever it again, and his head stubbornly remained attached.
The dramatic, visually striking performance sent the atmosphere in the Great Hall soaring. The students' cheers and screams were deafening, like a cauldron boiling over.
Dylan nodded quietly to himself.
Who came up with this idea—having ghosts perform a musical drama? And not just any drama, but one where a beheaded ghost relived his execution? Brilliant, if a bit morbid.
The ghosts took their bows in midair as the candles in the hall flared back to life. Applause from the students echoed endlessly.
Hermione, buzzing with excitement, tugged at Harry's sleeve. Ron forgot the pumpkin pasty he'd been about to shove into his mouth. Even Neville, beside Dylan, was flushed with enthusiasm, clapping wildly.
"Wow, that was intense!" Neville exclaimed. "Good thing we don't have executions like that anymore."
Dylan glanced at him, his mind briefly flashing to the experiments he'd conducted that required the heads of a few Cornish Pixies and goblins.
"Yeah," Dylan said with a nod. "Now it's just Dementors eating your mind instead."
Neville's expression froze, his smile turning strained. "That's… pretty terrifying too, huh?"
Once the Halloween feast officially ended, students from all four houses streamed out of the warm Great Hall, still buzzing from the festive atmosphere. Almost everyone was in high spirits.
Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled shadows across the Gryffindor Tower corridors.
But as the Gryffindors approached their common room, something felt… off.
Dylan moved forward with the crowd, which had come to a standstill. No one was entering the common room.
"Hm? What's this…?" Dylan murmured, sensing the stirrings of a familiar plot point from the Harry Potter books.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Such a happy day, and yet there's no rest."
He'd been looking forward to a brief break—no studying, no research, just a moment to relax. But, of course, something had to happen.
"Excuse me! Coming through! Make way, please!" Percy's voice cut through the noise from the back.
He elbowed his way to the front of the corridor, his eyes scanning the crowd with annoyance. "What are you all doing, standing around? Don't tell me you've all forgotten the password—'Fizzing Whizbee' isn't that hard!"
Percy's gaze shifted to the portrait that should have been guarded by the Fat Lady. "I'm the Head Boy, so if you'd please—"
But before he could finish, he reached the portrait and froze. His face paled.
"This… this…" Percy stammered, stumbling back, his voice rising to a near-squeak. "Someone—go get Professor Dumbledore! Now!"
His words sparked a ripple of panic, and the crowd surged backward.
Dylan stepped aside, staying calm, while Neville huddled nervously behind him. "What's happening now…?"
Dylan shrugged. "I'm guessing someone sneaked into Hogwarts while we were at the feast."
Neville's eyes widened in shock. "What?!"
"Don't panic yet," Dylan said. "Let's see what the professors say."
Meanwhile, Percy, still pushing through the crowd with practiced ease, was clearly rattled. Neville, too anxious to stay still, craned his neck to see past the students.
He couldn't make out much at first, but then, standing on his tiptoes behind Dylan, he caught a glimpse. Where the Fat Lady's cheerful portrait should have been was a shredded mess—claw-like gashes tore through the canvas, exposing rough burlap beneath, and the broken frame dangled loosely on the wall.
"Merlin's beard! What happened?" Neville gasped, a wave of fear gripping him.
Dylan spoke calmly. "No need to worry. Looks like an intruder tried to get into the common room, the Fat Lady refused them, and they… well, they weren't happy about it. Took it out on her portrait."
Neville turned to Dylan, bewildered. "No need to worry? Someone tore the Fat Lady's portrait to pieces and might be in our common room! You call that no big deal?"
He was trembling now. If someone could shred a magical portrait like that, how dangerous must they be? What if it was some monstrous beast?
Neville's instinct was to back away with the crowd. He imagined a snarling, bloodthirsty creature bursting out of the common room, tearing through defenseless students.
But then he remembered—Dylan wasn't defenseless. If he stuck close to Dylan, he'd probably be fine.
So, instead of fleeing, Neville shrank closer to Dylan, refusing to leave his side. Still, the sight of the empty, ruined frame filled him with dread. "Merlin… the Fat Lady… she's not…?"
Dylan shook his head. "Look closely—there's no trace of her in the scraps. Hogwarts portraits have their own world. She's probably hiding in another painting somewhere."
"Really…?" Neville studied the torn canvas. The edges were jagged, like claw marks or animal bites, but there was indeed no sign of the Fat Lady herself.
He let out a shaky breath, slightly relieved.
Just then, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Dumbledore appeared, his silver beard glinting in the moonlight, his robes swirling like a small whirlwind as he reached the ruined portrait.
With a flick of his wand, several blue flames sparked from the tip, floating in the air to illuminate the wreckage.
Professor McGonagall arrived moments later, her tartan hat askew from her rush. As Gryffindor's Head of House and Deputy Headmistress, she'd been alerted by the students. Her wand was gripped tightly, her eyes scanning for any sign of danger.
Dumbledore studied the vicious claw marks on the wall, his glasses catching a cold glint.
Professors Snape and Lupin soon joined them. Snape, cloaked in black, lurked in the shadows, his lips pressed into a thin line. Lupin crouched down, using his wand to lift a piece of torn canvas.
"Not a standard attack spell," Lupin observed.
Snape snorted. "Obviously. It's either dark magic or…" He paused. "A creature loose in the school."
"Either way, we need to find them quickly," Lupin said, standing.
Dumbledore's voice, aged but carrying rare authority, cut through the tension. "She's likely hiding in another portrait. We need to find her to learn what happened."
He turned, issuing orders. "Minerva, alert all professors to search the common rooms of every house. Severus, check the secret passages. Remus, gather the night owls to patrol the towers. Filch, search every painting in Hogwarts—I want the Fat Lady found."
Dumbledore's gaze softened as he looked at the trembling students. "Children, return to the Great Hall. Until we know more, you must stay there."
A cold wind swept through the corridor, stirring scraps of canvas. Suddenly, a shrill cackle rang out.
Peeves zoomed around the corner, his translucent form glowing faintly. He dangled upside-down above the crowd, eyes darting mischievously.
"Well, well, what a party! Thought a gang of goblins was brawling here!" he crowed.
Dumbledore raised a hand, calming the restless students. "Peeves, perhaps you'd care to share what you've seen?"
His tone was gentle, but Peeves' exaggerated grin faltered slightly under his gaze. The poltergeist opened his mouth, then caught sight of Dylan leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him quietly.
Peeves' expression stiffened.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, glancing in the direction Peeves had looked, but the poltergeist quickly recovered, blurting, "Poor pretty lady! She got so scared she dove into the painting on the fifth floor—Summer Riverside. Probably sobbing behind a willow tree right now."
Peeves let out a forced giggle, though it sounded strained. "Her makeup's all smudged—looks worse than me!"
Dumbledore turned, scanning the crowd. His eyes landed on Dylan, who stood unfazed. The headmaster paused, then turned back to Peeves.
The poltergeist, still chuckling awkwardly, covered his mouth with a fake cough. "Her dress is all torn up, poor thing."
"Did she mention what the attacker looked like?" Dumbledore pressed.
Peeves nodded, still upside-down. "Oh, sure! He wanted in, she said no, so he tried to rip her to shreds! Nasty temper, that one!"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "Who was it?"
Peeves, sensing the seriousness, flipped right-side-up and faced Dumbledore. With a dramatic wave of his arms and a raspy voice, he declared, "The big bad wolf! The madman who crawled out of Azkaban—Sirius Black!"
He flailed his arms, mimicking someone tearing the canvas. "He shredded that portrait worse than I shred homework! Maybe I should take notes from him!"
Dumbledore stared at him, unamused.
Peeves backtracked quickly. "Not that I'd ever ruin anyone's homework, of course."
Dumbledore raised his wand, and a booming voice echoed across Hogwarts. "Tonight, the castle will be lit with protective charms. Children, head to the Great Hall. You'll be informed of what's happening. But do not fear—courage isn't the absence of fear, but moving forward despite it."
With that, he motioned for McGonagall to lead the students to the Great Hall.
Dylan followed the crowd, noticing that Dumbledore didn't seem surprised by Peeves' revelation.
Neville stuck close to him, practically acting as his shadow—though it was clear who was protecting whom.
Dylan glanced back at Peeves, who shrank under his gaze and vanished in a puff.
As the Gryffindors poured back into the Great Hall, the tables were bare, the food gone. Only the Halloween decorations remained.
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