The damp October faded away in the ceaseless drizzle, with classes, breaks, nightly escapades into the Forbidden Forest, battling trolls, and collecting spider corpses... William's ordinary, dull, and boring school routine continued, while the progress in finding the diary was unusually slow—or rather, there was no progress at all.
Just as William had guessed, when a sentient dark magical artifact wants to hide itself, it becomes exceedingly difficult to find.
Not to mention that it "consumed" the magic William left on Ginny, possibly even strengthened it further—
It might lie dormant for a week, a semester, or perhaps decades... Who would know?
Yet, the situation wasn't severe... It was just a talking diary with some control magic, at most manipulating Ginny to wander at night into the girls' bathroom—
... In that sense, this Tom must be a total creep, right?
The uneventful days passed quickly until Halloween, a festive atmosphere infecting everyone, with giant pumpkins carved into various skull-faced lanterns, piled in every corner of the hall, while decorative live bats flapped their wings gently by the candlelight.
...
Harry Potter was now deeply regretting the rash decision he made earlier.
The boy cast a longing glance at the glittering decorations inside the hall, and at Hagrid, who was waving to them with a large pumpkin in his arms, as he walked away heavily toward the other direction from the hall.
Speaking of which, going to a deathday party, no matter how heavy-hearted, shouldn't be a problem, right?
"... Where's Ron?"
Seeing Hermione standing alone on the inside of the entrance hall, Harry puzzledly adjusted his glasses.
"I don't know, I thought he was with you—" Hermione was obviously bewildered too, "Didn't you call him when you left the dormitory?"
"I haven't seen him all day," Harry shook his head. They had arranged to meet here a few days ago to attend Nearly Headless Nick's five hundredth deathday party together—to thank him for saving Harry from Filch's hands.
For some reason, since about a month ago, Harry had felt that something about Ron's relationship with them had changed.
As if overnight, nothing special had happened, yet Ron suddenly talked much less, becoming reticent and frequently acting alone; he hadn't seen Ron returning to the dorm many nights—
Only to find him sleeping soundly in his bed the next morning.
Harry tried to have a heart-to-heart talk with Ron, because Hermione thought it might be adolescent troubles, but Ron would most often brush it off with a few words, until recently, he almost entirely lost interest in talking.
"Maybe we should see what he's been up to these nights—" Hermione noticed Ron's recent odd behavior too. She furrowed her brow and suggested an idea, "Use your Invisibility Cloak."
"So now... we go back to the hall to look for him?" Harry paused, a guilty tone in his voice—he simply didn't want to attend the deathday party, and if there was a reason, he believed Nearly Headless Nick would forgive him... probably?
But Hermione clearly wasn't on the same page; she raised her eyebrows, the frizzy hair at the back of her head slightly puffing up, "A promise is a promise. You said you would attend the deathday party."
"But Ron..." Harry attempted to resist.
"That's an issue for tonight!"
Without leaving room for argument, Hermione pushed Harry towards the direction of the dungeon.
...
To Harry's dismay, attending the deathday party turned out to be an utterly dreadful decision, and Hermione had to reluctantly agree in the end, "But Harry, ugh..., we, ugh..., promised Nick, ugh..., to attend, so I, ugh..., can't regret it, ugh..."
"Stop talking, Hermione..."
Holding the about-to-throw-up Hermione but still stubbornly lamenting, Harry said helplessly. Just now, Peeves had jumped out from nowhere, giving Hermione a fright; the girl almost plunged headfirst into a platter of at least three-month-old rotten fish guts—
Though quick-eyed Harry managed to grab Hermione's collar, saving her from disaster, the girl couldn't avoid catching a whiff of the stench.
"Hey, Harry!" Nearly Headless Nick floated over from the crowd... no, the group of ghosts, standing proudly beside Harry, "What do you think, quite a turnout, isn't it—"
"Yes, Nick, wonderful, but my friend isn't feeling too well—" Harry interrupted Nick's words, a hint of urgency on his face.
"No, H-ugh...Harry... I still can—" Hermione was still struggling.
"No, you can't." Harry bluntly cut off Hermione, then turned smilingly to Nearly Headless Nick, "Really, Nick, I've got to take her to the infirmary—"
"Oh, alright then, Harry. I'm just glad you came."
Relieved at getting Nick's approval, Harry carefully dodged the Headless Knight Order rushing out of a wall and dragged Hermione out of the dungeon hosting the deathday party; finally breathing fresh air, Hermione seemed to come back to life.
"... Shall we head to the hall now?" she looked at the time on her watch, "We might still catch the last of the dessert?"
"I thought you couldn't bear to leave that place..." Harry muttered discontentedly; if not for Hermione's insistence, he should have been able to more than just catch dessert.
But the next moment, Harry's steps halted slightly.
He heard it.
"...Tear you...tear you apart...kill you..."
The spine-chilling voice echoed once more, Harry's pupils dilated suddenly—yes, he suddenly remembered what he had forgotten during those first few weeks of term.
So, he stumbled to a halt, ear pressed against the stone wall, listening intently while surveying his surroundings, eyes narrowed as he searched up and down the dimly lit corridor.
"...Harry?"
"Shh—listen!"
"...So starving... it's been so long... kill... it's time..."
"Listen to what?" Hermione asked in confusion.
Harry didn't answer; he listened attentively to the gradually weakening voice and then hurried in the direction it faded, "Up there, it's up there!" he almost frantically murmured.
"Wait, Harry!"
The two of them ran quickly down the corridor, one after the other, until they heard sounds of a scuffle at a corner not far ahead—
"... It's you, Weasley kid! I finally caught you, I knew it was you!"
"Let go of me!"
"That's... Ron's voice!"
Hermione recognized the voice of the young wizard behind them. At this moment, she could not spare the time to ask Harry what he'd heard, but could only anxiously run alongside him in that direction—she saw them, Ron and Filch in a heated dispute—
"Ron!"
"Hermione?" Ron looked down the stairs upon hearing the commotion.
"As for you two miscreants, you're in cahoots too, aren't yo—"
Filch's words were cut short, both his and Ron's expressions turning to horror, as if they had seen something terrifying. In the next moment, time seemed frozen by some mysterious force, with both locked in a bizarre grappling pose, stuck in place.