Chapter 146: The Deathday Party and the Grey Lady's Request
"Rubbish!" Malfoy snapped, his face flushing red. He'd clearly been hit where it hurt.
"Whether it's rubbish or not, you know the truth yourself," Russell replied coolly.
He was about to continue when the bell rang.
"Class dismissed."
With a flick of his wand, he levitated the nearly unconscious Grindylow back into its container.
Detaining students after class? Absolutely not. Not in this lifetime.
---
As soon as the other students filed out, Ron rushed forward.
"Russell, that spell you taught us was brilliant!"
"Yeah!" Harry added eagerly. "Next time Malfoy starts something, I'll use it on him. It doesn't even cause real harm—professors probably won't say anything."
Hermione and Neville had stayed behind as well.
"Thank you, Russell," Neville said shyly. "If you hadn't stepped in, I don't know what Malfoy would've done."
"Don't let him push you around, Neville," Hermione said, half exasperated, half protective. "If he bullies you, go straight to Professor McGonagall."
"Neville," Russell said thoughtfully, "I ran into your grandmother at St. Mungo's not long ago."
Neville stiffened.
"I saw your parents," Russell continued gently. "They're heroes. As their son, you need to stand tall."
He clapped Neville on the shoulder.
"And if Malfoy ever goes too far, I'll take you straight to the Headmaster's office. Between the son of heroes and the son of a Death Eater, I think Dumbledore knows which side carries more weight."
"The son of a Death Eater?" Hermione gasped. "Malfoy's father was a Death Eater? Then why wasn't he arrested?"
"He donated a mountain of Galleons to the Ministry," Ron said with a shrug. "Plenty of Death Eaters bought their way out after the war."
"That's outrageous," Hermione fumed. "The British Ministry is completely corrupt!"
She clenched her fists. "One day, I'll become Minister for Magic and change all of it."
"Come off it," Ron said bluntly. "Ministers are usually pure-blood elites. Even if you had the ability, you wouldn't have the background."
Hermione bit her lip, clearly frustrated.
"I disagree," Russell said with a small smile. "I think Hermione would make an excellent Minister for Magic."
Hermione's face flushed bright red. "Thank you."
Crack.
A sharp snap was followed by a piercing shriek.
Russell turned toward the sound and saw Wednesday gripping the Grindylow by the neck, twisting off one of its fingers with clinical curiosity.
"If you like it, you can keep it," Russell said lightly. "Oh, by the way—Lady Grey invited me to her Deathday Party tonight. She said I could bring friends. Anyone interested?"
"Deathday Party? What's that?" they asked in unison.
"It's a celebration ghosts hold to commemorate the anniversary of their death."
The moment he said that, Wednesday's eyes lit up. She dropped the Grindylow immediately and strode over.
"I'm going."
"Of course you are," Russell chuckled. "That's why I accepted."
"What about you lot?" he asked the others. "Though I should warn you—the food is… extremely rotten."
"I'm out," Ron said instantly, shaking his head. "I'll stick to the Halloween feast. I heard loads of students who bought transformation potions are putting on performances."
Harry and Hermione declined as well.
Russell hadn't expected otherwise. He'd only asked casually.
---
The Deathday Party was held in an abandoned underground hall near the kitchens and the Hufflepuff common room.
Black frost-covered drapes hung from the walls. The temperature was freezing.
Long tables were laden with decayed dishes—maggot-infested cakes, moldy fish heads, and other unspeakable horrors. Candles burned with cold blue flames. The damp stone floor was slick, and the air reeked of rot.
Wednesday seemed perfectly at home.
She blended into the spectral crowd effortlessly.
Russell, on the other hand, fought back a rising wave of nausea but kept his composure, retreating to a corner to observe the attending ghosts.
To his surprise, he spotted Cho and Cedric among the guests.
They hadn't noticed him—and didn't stay long before slipping out.
Russell was just considering stepping outside for some fresh air when a soft, hollow voice drifted behind him.
"Uncomfortable?"
The Grey Lady materialized silently at his side.
"It's manageable," Russell replied. "But I assume you didn't invite me here on a whim. What do you really want?"
He didn't believe for a second that this invitation had been random.
She gave a faint, brittle smile. Her translucent white form drifted through the wall, reappearing on his other side.
"You see through things far too easily."
"Come," she said quietly. "This isn't the place to talk."
Russell followed her into a neighboring abandoned dungeon chamber.
"Well?" he prompted. "What's this about?"
The Grey Lady hesitated for a moment.
Then she spoke.
"I want you to retrieve Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem."
Russell kept his expression perfectly calm, but inside, his thoughts churned like a storm.
Why bring this up now?
Does she already know where the diadem is?
"Why me?" he asked evenly. "Wouldn't it be better to ask Dumbledore?"
"I did," she replied, shaking her head faintly. "It was of no use."
"Then why insist on me?" Russell pressed, genuine curiosity lacing his tone.
The Grey Lady drifted slightly closer.
"Because in the thousand years I have remained at Hogwarts, you are the most brilliant young wizard I have ever seen," she said softly. "Even surpassing… him."
When she mentioned "him," her expression dimmed with something like regret.
Russell pretended confusion. "Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem was her relic, wasn't it? And you're a ghost now—you can't even use it. Why are you so desperate to recover it?"
Her pale eyes shimmered.
"Because it was lost through me."
Pearl-like tears welled up and slipped from her eyes. The moment they fell, they dissolved into white light and rejoined her spectral form.
"I was Lady Ravenclaw's daughter. But I was foolish—consumed by pride. I wanted to prove I was the most intelligent person in the world. So I stole her diadem and hid it."
She paused.
"An accident claimed my life. I remained here, bound to Hogwarts as a ghost. Decades ago, I trusted someone I should not have trusted. All this time, I have longed to reclaim the diadem—but as a ghost, I can do nothing."
"So you want me to find it for you," Russell said thoughtfully. "Where is it?"
"In the forests of Romania," she answered at once.
"Romania?" Russell frowned. "That's impossible. It's too far."
"Not anymore," she clarified quickly. "I hid it there originally. But I revealed its location to someone. I can sense it… he brought the diadem back to Britain."
She carefully avoided revealing that "someone's" identity.
Russell studied her for a long moment.
"And what do I gain from this?"
"The diadem itself," she said without hesitation. "I will teach you how to use it. I only wish to see it returned."
"Very well," Russell agreed calmly.
He already knew exactly where the diadem was. As for when to show it to her—that could wait until the fragment of Voldemort's soul attached to it was dealt with.
---
"Did you enjoy yourself?" Russell asked later as he and Wednesday walked back from the dispersing Deathday Party. Wednesday seemed unusually animated.
"Of course," she replied. "I learned about countless fascinating deaths. Truly inventive."
She began counting on her fingers.
"Impaled by pitchfork. Jumped off a cliff hoping to awaken flight magic. Decapitated—though unfortunately still partially attached by scalp. Delightful variety."
The last one was clearly Nearly Headless Nick.
"Good night, Wednesday," Russell said with a faint smile.
But instead of returning to his dormitory, he turned toward the fourth floor.
It was time to investigate properly—and gather evidence. He didn't want Quirrell later accusing him of negligence.
---
He pushed open the door.
The three massive heads of Fluffy lunged forward with a blast of hot, rancid breath.
"Still as ugly as ever," Russell muttered.
He took out a small flute and began to play.
A simple, repetitive tune drifted through the room.
One head yawned. Then the second. Then the third.
Moments later, thunderous snores filled the chamber.
Russell shoved the massive beast slightly aside and discovered the trapdoor beneath its paws.
He opened it.
Darkness yawned below.
Casting a Shield Charm on himself, he jumped.
He landed in something soft and tangled—Devil's Snare.
The vines wrapped tightly around him, but the Shield Charm prevented them from constricting further. Frustrated, the plant lifted him slightly, its tendrils tightening.
Russell considered slicing it apart with Sectumsempra, but decided against it.
A flick of his wand.
A thin ribbon of flame shot out.
The Devil's Snare recoiled instantly, shrinking away from the heat. Russell dropped lightly to the stone floor.
---
The next chamber was filled with hundreds of silver-winged keys darting wildly through the air.
They moved fast.
Russell narrowed his eyes.
Would an Impediment Charm slow them down?
There was only one way to find out.
He raised his wand.