Chapter 144. A Peaceful Hallowe'en… Or Is It?
Time very quickly reached the end of October.
On the morning of the day before Hallowe'en.
While Adrian Wesson was feeding Rai in the Hogwarts courtyard, he ran into Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
The three of them seemed to have been spending a lot of time together lately.
When she saw Rai, Hermione's eyes lit up.
Although Wesson had always let Rai roam free, and Rai often appeared around Hogwarts, as a second-year Hermione rarely had the chance to see Rai—much less interact with him up close.
Harry, on the other hand, often dropped by Wesson's office for tea and to tease Rai.
Hermione strode forward, eyes shining. "Professor Wesson, may I pet your Thunderbird? It's so beautiful!"
Seeing her enthusiasm, Wesson nodded with a smile. "Of course, Hermione. Rai isn't afraid of students, so long as you bear him no ill will."
Before he had even finished speaking, Rai had already stepped elegantly up to Hermione, tilting his head to size her up.
"Oh my!" Hermione carefully reached out. The moment her fingertips brushed Rai's feathers, she exclaimed in delight, "I've wanted to touch a real Thunderbird for ages."
"Begging your pardon," Ron said with a curl of his lip, "you only found out you were a witch last year."
Then he went on, "It's just a big bird… hey, what d'you think you're—!"
His words were cut off by Hermione's sharp elbow.
"You've no idea what a Thunderbird signifies," Hermione said, looking at Ron. "It's a very rare magical creature! I've read about it in books. It's the darling of storms—extremely rare—like a phoenix…"
"All right, all right, you're right," Ron muttered, rubbing his side.
At the same time, Harry looked a bit absent-minded.
Wesson noticed at once.
"What's the matter, Harry?" he asked. "You look preoccupied."
Harry finally came back to himself.
He let out a slow sigh. "I'm starting to think accepting Nearly Headless Nick's invitation was a mistake…"
"Nearly Headless Nick?" Wesson mused. "Let me guess—you three accepted his invitation to the five-hundredth deathday banquet."
Hermione and Ron immediately turned to look at Wesson.
"How did you know, Professor?" Ron asked, curious.
Feeding Rai another large piece of owl biscuit, Wesson smiled slightly. "Nick invited me as well. But I declined."
"Declined?" Hermione couldn't help looking puzzled. "Why refuse? Wouldn't a ghosts' banquet be good? I suppose it must be very interesting."
"You'll know when the time comes," Wesson said with a mysterious smile. "You'll have an unforgettable night.
"And I don't think I'll have the time anyway. Professor Dumbledore has assigned me a task—I need to help receive the skeleton dance troupe he's booked."
"What a pity," Hermione said.
Wesson did not think so.
Only these little ones would choose to accept Nick's invitation; normal people can't abide sitting with a crowd of ghosts.
He recalled the bucket of green "soup" Peeves had knocked over at his office door some time ago.
That stench was far too clinging.
By evening, the Great Hall had been decorated for Hallowe'en just like the previous year.
A great flock of bats flew to and fro overhead, and jack-o'-lanterns of all sizes were set everywhere.
Wesson even spotted a pumpkin larger than two Hagrids put together.
The skeleton dance troupe that Dumbledore had booked arrived right on time.
Wesson stood at the entrance, watching a neat file of bare-boned skeletons march in through the main doors, their footsteps making a tremendous clack-clack.
The leading skeleton was a head taller than the others, her bones gleaming with a pearly lustre.
"Just call me Bill," the leader said, giving Wesson an elegant bow, her jawbone clicking crisply as she spoke. "So glad you invited us this year. We'll bring you the finest skeletal dance!"
"Then I'll trouble you for it," Wesson replied dryly.
He truly had no idea how to speak to a skeleton in a way that would put her at ease.
Still, whatever the case, it's always good to start by complimenting someone's appearance.
So—
"Ms. Bill, your bones are exquisitely well kept," Wesson said with genuine admiration.
Bill's jaw clacked with pride. "Three hundred years of olive-oil care, dear. But you've got my gender wrong."
"Er… all right, my ap—Ms. Bill," Wesson faltered for a moment at her words.
The name Bill didn't sound particularly feminine.
After that, Wesson gave Bill a careful once-over from head to toe.
Hmm… judging by the frame, she did look like a woman.
"No matter," Bill said, shaking her head, completely unconcerned. "Please look forward to our performance!"
Soon it was fully dark, and students and professors alike filed into the Great Hall.
After the skeleton dance troupe finished their macabre revels, the feast officially began.
Sitting at the High Table, Wesson indeed noticed that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not present.
It seemed they had truly accepted Nick's invitation and gone to his five-hundredth deathday banquet.
Wesson could only hope they had a good time.
And hope that, when they got back, there would still be some food left on the table.
Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already in an underground classroom.
Nearly Headless Nick's five-hundredth deathday banquet was halfway through.
At last, they understood exactly what Wesson had meant by an "unforgettable night."
A ghostly banquet was in no way suited to the living.
Although there were a great many ghosts in attendance, Harry felt no sense of merriment at all.
Whenever those ghosts brushed against him, all he felt was a creeping chill from head to toe.
The ghosts replaced laughter with weeping, took fingernails scraping on a blackboard for pleasant music, and served rotten food as delicious fare.
A dank, mildewy reek pervaded the entire underground classroom.
When the Headless Hunt's performance had the gathered ghosts enraptured, the three of them quietly slipped from their seats in tacit agreement.
All they wanted now was to return to a normal feast, rather than staring at a heap of rotting, stinking food while their stomachs growled.
When the trio left the underground classroom and reached the corridor,
Ron let out a long breath and said to Harry and Hermione, "Professor Wesson was right—turning down Nearly Headless Nick's invitation would've been the sensible choice… just look at the ghosts' food—absolutely foul!"
"Don't say it," Hermione said, a hand over her mouth. "I'm going to be sick."
"At least it was a memorable experience," Harry consoled them. "I hope the Hallowe'en feast upstairs isn't over yet.
"Right now I just want something normal to eat."
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