As Halloween approached, a damp chill crept through the castle. The shift in weather made most students prefer staying close to the fireplaces.
Unlike last year, this time many students had come down with the flu due to the sudden change, leaving Madam Pomfrey busier than usual.
Even Pansy caught a cold when she wasn't paying attention, looking sickly and worn-out these days. But the "gorillas" Goyle and Crabbe, as Pansy called them, were completely unaffected and still running around like nothing happened. Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey was far more reliable than Lockhart. Before long, the potion she brewed had effectively eased the spread of the flu.
That said, while the potion worked well, it had one peculiar side effect: anyone who drank it would have smoke puffing from their ears for several hours. This meant you could always spot a few unlucky wizards in the corridors or the Great Hall with smoke curling from their heads after taking the remedy.
Ginny Weasley stood out in particular—wisps of white smoke rising beneath her fiery red hair made it look like her whole head was ablaze.
Maybe that's why Pansy, unwilling to embarrass herself in front of her crush, started avoiding Draco for a few hours each day. To outsiders who didn't know the reason, it looked like the two were fighting...
...
Heavy rain, like bullets, lashed the windows of the castle. It had been pouring for days, with no sign of stopping, as though the awful weather was trying to warn them of something.
The lake had risen, the flower beds were washed out into muddy streams, and the pumpkins Hagrid planted behind his hut had swollen to the size of garden sheds. They must have been treated with an Engorgement Charm to grow that large.
Despite the miserable weather, Wood's enthusiasm for Quidditch training remained undimmed. In the days leading up to Halloween, Gryffindor's team continued their grueling practices out in the wind and rain.
Each session left the players soaked and bedraggled. Their dripping robes gave Filch plenty of reasons to hound them. Even Harry ended up in Filch's office for the first time because of it.
Whether or not all that intense training would pay off remained to be seen—but their determination to win was obvious.
Yeah... Oliver Wood's obsession with winning the cup...
...
Outside, the rain still poured, and the sky was as black as ink. But inside the Gryffindor common room, it was bright and lively. Firelight danced across rows of cushy armchairs, where young lions sat reading, chatting, and doing homework.
The noisiest were Fred and George, the twin brothers, who were testing what would happen if they fed a salamander some hard-to-light fireworks. The poor salamander lay on the table, smoldering quietly, while a circle of curious Gryffindors watched.
"Hermione, I'm starting to regret accepting that invitation," Harry muttered, sighing as he glanced over at Fred.
"Oh, Harry, I don't think it was a great idea either—but a promise is a promise!" Hermione replied sharply.
Harry Potter gave a helpless nod, unable to argue back, and gave up on the idea of coming up with an excuse to back out.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he scanned the common room, searching for someone...
"Wonder where Ron went."
"Who knows—maybe he's already in the Great Hall."
Today was Halloween, and like last year, the school had prepared a feast for all the students and teachers to celebrate.
But the closer it got to the dinner, the more Harry regretted agreeing so carelessly to that other wizard's invitation.
As he walked down the corridor, he could already picture the other students heading off cheerfully to the Halloween banquet.
The Great Hall was decorated with live bats, and Hagrid's enormous pumpkins had been carved into lanterns—big enough to seat three people inside.
He even heard that Dumbledore had booked a skeleton dance troupe to perform for them.
And yet, Harry felt himself drifting farther and farther from all that joy…
…
Hermione walked down the sloping corridor. Though candles lined both sides, they did nothing to create a festive Halloween mood—instead, the place felt eerie and unsettling.
The candles were all small and black, burning with a faint blue glow. Even when the light fell on Hermione's fair, pretty face, it made her look ghostly.
"Harry, don't you feel a little cold?"
"Ah…"
Shivering slightly, Hermione pulled her cloak tighter around herself. The curiosity she'd had at the start was completely gone.
The farther they descended—whether it was all in their heads or something about the place itself—the colder it seemed to get with every step.
"Wait… do you hear that?"
A strange sound reached them, like a thousand fingernails dragging across a giant chalkboard. The screech was enough to drive anyone mad, and Hermione almost turned back right then.
In fact, she did stop and was ready to leave—but then someone appeared, making her hesitate...
"Why... are you here?"
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief, tinged with surprise, as she stared at the figure ahead—completely forgetting the now visibly tense Harry Potter beside her.
"Welcome to Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington's Deathday Party. Hmm… the only two guests still breathing."
That familiar smooth voice, that light blond hair.
Hermione looked into those gray eyes, which carried a trace of amusement, and suddenly felt flustered. She instinctively began to smooth her softening brown curls.
Neither she nor Harry had expected to see him here—especially not like this.
"Why are you here, Draco Malfoy?"
If he hadn't acted on impulse, Harry never would've agreed to this invitation. He'd even planned to just make an appearance and leave.
But he hadn't expected any other wizard to actually attend a Deathday Party hosted by ghosts.
Was Malfoy scheming something again...?