Chapter 336: Nick's Mistake
Harry suddenly realized that something had gone wrong in Nearly Headless Nick's plan tonight—so wrong that it might shatter everything Nick had carefully prepared.
Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore was clearly on a different level from Nick.
This wasn't just about broken necks.
Nick hadn't simply targeted the Headless Hunters' inability to eat. He had carefully arranged the entire evening. The stage had been prepared early, the lights set, the guests gathered—and only then had Nick deliberately delayed the banquet, waiting for the Headless Hunters to arrive.
In Nick's imagination, the outcome should have been perfect.
The Headless Hunters would rush to the stage, steal the spotlight as usual, and show off their so-called fame. Then, when the ghosts realized that real food—prepared with Dumbledore's help—was present, their attention would be ripped away entirely.
Ghosts who had not tasted food since death would never care about performances.
That would be the first slap.
Then, when the Headless Hunters tried to reclaim attention, boasting and parading their headless tricks, they would realize the cruel irony—no matter how famous they were, they still could not eat.
That would be the second slap.
Finally, Nick would stand above them all, victorious.
Even if reality didn't unfold exactly as planned, Nick believed one thing was certain: the Headless Hunters would still have to endure the humiliation of watching others eat.
That was why he had remained so confident.
But now, watching Sir Patrick, Harry began to doubt everything.
Patrick wore the same calm smile he had shown earlier—steady, unshaken, almost amused.
For a brief moment, Harry wondered if he was overthinking things.
After all, every member of the Headless Hunt had juice slowly dripping from their severed necks. Pumpkin pulp, gravy, and sauce leaked down their armor and cloaks, soaking into their ghostly forms.
And yet—
They didn't care.
They laughed, chatted, and continued eating with obvious enjoyment, as though the mess meant nothing at all.
Nick's smile widened.
Slowly, deliberately, he floated toward the stage.
Harry could almost feel it—the moment Nick believed he had finally won.
"Everyone, please pay attention," Nearly Headless Nick announced, stepping into the cold blue spotlight. "I have something to say."
The chatter faded.
Nick glanced toward the transparent dining table. Plates were nearly empty. Knives and forks had been set aside. Only one fat ghost still chewed slowly, blissfully unaware of the tension.
Nick cleared his throat.
The dirt-streaked Headless Hunters, especially Patrick, were right where Nick wanted them.
"Well," Nick said, his voice carrying a carefully practiced cheerfulness, "has everyone had enough to eat and drink?"
His gaze lingered pointedly on the Hunters.
"Excellent. Then allow me to invite the most famous Headless Hunters in our ghostly world to perform." He paused, then covered his mouth theatrically. "Oh! How careless of me—how could I forget? You don't really have the… equipment… to eat cake, do you?"
A ripple of unease spread through the crowd.
Patrick's expression hardened.
"I suppose," Patrick said coolly, blowing a sharp whistle, "that I won't be performing for a ghost like you."
At his signal, the ghost horses rushed forward.
Nick floated closer, pretending concern. "Oh dear, you're filthy. Would you like help cleaning up? I'm not stingy—despite you refusing to let me join your team again and again."
Patrick mounted his horse and moved to the center of the stage.
For some reason, at that moment, he seemed imposing. The grime clinging to him no longer looked pitiful—it looked deliberate.
"What's wrong?" Nick forced a laugh. "Is there still a bit of skin connecting your head and neck?"
The audience went silent.
"Let's set that aside," Patrick said calmly. "I have a question for you. These dishes—Dumbledore helped prepare them, didn't he?"
"They're for my death anniversary," Nick replied stiffly.
"No," Patrick said firmly. "They're for the guests."
"And you deliberately delayed the meal. You let everyone starve while waiting for us."
Nick froze.
He could have lied. He could have claimed he wanted everyone present before starting.
But Nick wasn't that kind of ghost.
Patrick knew it.
"Look at the cake," Patrick continued. "You knew living students would attend."
"And not just any students—Harry Potter. The one who makes it possible for us to eat at all."
The whispers began.
"The lighting—look at the lighting!"
"And the cold!"
"Did Harry Potter and his friends get anything to eat?"
Patrick's voice sharpened. "Tell us, Nick—did they?"
"We're not hungry!" Ron blurted out loudly, even as his stomach betrayed him with a deep growl.
Patrick turned toward the sound, startled. "Not hungry? I—"
"Enough!"
Nick's voice cracked through the hall.
"I admit it!" he shouted. "I wanted revenge!"
"For being rejected by the Headless Hunters!"
"I became petty. I became obsessed with winning."
"And I forgot the true purpose of this banquet—to make everyone happy."
Nick's voice dropped, heavy with shame.
"It doesn't matter who brings that joy. I should never have forgotten that I had living friends here tonight."
"They gave up warm halls, full plates, their living companions, and the Skeleton Band… all for me."
"And I failed them."
Harry stepped forward immediately. "Nick—you didn't forget us. You even put our names on the cake."
Patrick sighed, then lifted his head cleanly from his shoulders and made a ridiculous face. "Alright, alright. I wasn't entirely right either."
"I didn't mean to upstage you," he admitted. "It was your party."
Applause erupted.
Even the Bloody Baron twitched faintly, as though approving.
"Thank you," Nick said quietly. "Thank you all."
Then he turned to Harry. "You should leave now. If you hurry, you might still catch the Halloween feast."
As Nick's voice faded, he followed Harry and the others toward the exit.
"Well," Ron said hopefully as they climbed the stairs, "at least he realized his mistake."
"I just hope there's food left."
Draco snorted. "Don't worry. Crabbe and Goyle probably have enough piled around them for three feasts."
"We can help them with that."
"They've needed to lose weight for ages—like Dudley."
Ron grimaced. "Why did you have to bring up Dudley?"
Draco smirked. "Didn't you hear? Crabbe and Goyle want to join the Slytherin team."
"But they're too weak."
"And Dudley?" Draco added casually. "Muscle, balance, and magic that actually affects broom control."
"He's the new goalkeeper."
Ron groaned.
Some ghosts were colder than others—but tonight, embarrassment had been far colder than death.
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