This year's Halloween Eve marked the 500th deathday of Gryffindor's ghost, Nearly Headless Nick. As a result, the ghosts collectively skipped the Great Hall's feast, opting instead for a spectral banquet more befitting their ethereal nature. After that, the school faced its first attack, with Filch's cat as the victim.
But none of that would happen this time. Things were different now.
When Hodge Blackthorn stepped into the deserted entrance hall, he caught sight of Mrs. Norris finally leaping down from a wall niche, sauntering upstairs as if to patrol her territory once more. As she passed him, she brushed against his trouser leg—a feline version of a greeting.
Hodge promptly scooped her up.
"No big deal, but you'd better not go upstairs," he said, carrying Mrs. Norris toward the dungeon classrooms. At first, he wasn't sure where the ghostly banquet was being held, but soon, eerie black candles glowing with a cold light pointed the way.
The ghosts' banquet was about as lively as a tomb. In one of the dungeon classrooms, Harry stood shivering, his feet numb from the cold. He glanced at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who were in similar states, trembling so hard their breath came out in frosty white clouds, as if the air itself had frozen. They'd already shuffled through the cavernous room, listening to a dozen tales about the visiting ghosts' most famous exploits from their living days. They'd just left a table laden with rotting food, after Hermione had spent a full ten minutes lecturing them on the intricacies of ghostly cuisine. Her face was now deathly pale.
"Let's get out of here," Ron said for what felt like the hundredth time.
At that moment, a short figure popped out from under the table, floating in midair with a wicked grin. It was Peeves, holding a plate of moldy peanuts.
"Fancy some?" he asked in a sickly sweet tone, proudly displaying the rancid spread.
"No, thanks," Hermione said, her lips quivering. "We were just about to leave—"
"Not having fun?" Peeves leaned in closer, his voice dripping with mock concern.
"Oh, no, we're having a blast, actually—" Hermione stammered, glancing at Harry and Ron for help. But before either could chime in, Peeves cut in again.
"Heard you lot talking about poor Myrtle," he said, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Talking about poor Myrtle—how rude." Moaning Myrtle, the school's resident ghost who haunted an abandoned girls' bathroom, was notoriously temperamental, a fact Harry and the others knew all too well. One of the unspoken rules of the ghostly banquet was to steer clear of her. But trouble found them anyway. With a loud cackle, Peeves summoned Myrtle with a single shout. Things spiraled downhill from there. No matter how Hermione tried to smooth things over, Myrtle saw through her half-hearted words. It was as if the ghost, who'd lingered in that bathroom for centuries, had honed her talent for sniffing out insincerity.
"Don't lie to me!" Myrtle wailed, transparent tears streaming down her cheeks. "You think I don't know what people say behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Poor, sniveling, miserable Myrtle!"
"You forgot 'pimply,'" Peeves whispered in her ear, his voice low and taunting.
Sobbing, Moaning Myrtle fled the dungeon classroom. Peeves, delighted, did a little jig in midair, waving his plate of peanuts. He zoomed after her but screeched to a halt mid-flight.
"Well, well, who do we have here?" Peeves said, hovering high above. "If it isn't the little troublemaker."
"Peeves," Hodge said calmly, his tone almost gentle.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione jumped. They hadn't noticed Hodge arrive, let alone with a cat in his arms. When Harry realized it was Mrs. Norris, he was floored—people had tried bribing her with treats like kippers, but she always ignored them, too haughty to care.
Peeves froze in place, his beady black eyes darting about.
"How'd you manage that?" Ron asked, incredulous.
"What?"
"The cat!"
"It's a matter of character," Hodge said with a shrug.
"Character?" Ron gaped, pointing at himself as if questioning his entire existence. He began mentally replaying his twelve years of life, wondering where he'd gone wrong.
"Don't listen to Hodge," Hermione said. "Mrs. Norris likely has some kneazle ancestry. It's faint, but there's a chance of atavism. Kneazles are excellent at spotting untrustworthy people."
"What, so the whole school's untrustworthy?" Harry couldn't help but interject.
"Oh, I get it," Ron said, snapping his fingers. "She's using Filch's standards. To him, every student's a suspect."
Mrs. Norris let out an indignant yowl.
Peeves, realizing no one was paying attention to him, slunk off silently, drifting away like a wisp of smoke.
"He's scared of you?" Harry whispered.
"A contract," Hodge replied simply.
"You've fought him?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued. He counted on his fingers. "By my count, you've had at least two run-ins."
Hodge nodded reluctantly. He was starting to suspect that, in Peeves' eyes, he was becoming something of a schoolyard bully. He'd unintentionally pushed the boundaries of dealing with the poltergeist. Older students didn't fear Peeves, but they rarely provoked him either—his knack for popping up unexpectedly and holding grudges made him a hassle to deal with. Hodge, however, had no such problem.
Per their agreement, Hodge only had to challenge Peeves to a duel once a month to keep him at bay. The awkward truth was that, unlike last year when their skirmishes were evenly matched, this year Peeves had realized he couldn't win. He resorted to hiding with his invisibility, but the moment he took physical form, Hodge's relentless counterattacks came raining down. Peeves might be hard to injure, but he could still feel pain.
The host of the banquet floated in.
"Having a grand time?" Nearly Headless Nick asked cheerfully.
"Oh, absolutely, thrilled…" they all lied in unison. Just then, a troop of ghostly horsemen galloped into the room, silencing the mournful, sawing music. Hodge glanced over—it was the Headless Hunt, now dressed in new attire. Unlike their comical appearance in the Great Hall, they looked majestic and heroic, performing daring tricks atop their spectral steeds.
Hodge figured they couldn't have pulled off such feats when they were alive.
Nearly Headless Nick was whisked away by the leader of the Headless Hunt, a former court wizard who looked comically out of place among the towering horses. Harry shot him a sympathetic glance. When Ron suggested leaving for the umpteenth time, they all agreed without hesitation.
As they climbed the stairs, the faint sounds of laughter from the Great Hall drifted down. Just when Hodge thought the day would pass without incident and set Mrs. Norris down, Harry froze.
"Harry, hurry up, I don't want to miss the last pudding—" Ron urged, turning around to find Harry pressing his ear against the stone wall.
"What's wrong?"
"Shh!"
Hodge spun around, not toward Harry but to Ginny. Her face was pale, a mix of shock and confusion.
Then Harry took off, running while tilting his head as if chasing a sound within the walls. Hodge sprinted after him, but they split up in the entrance hall—Harry bolted for the second floor, while Hodge charged into the Great Hall. Standing at the entrance, his eyes seemed to glow, taking in the entire room filled with laughter and chatter.
Everything related to Ginny stood out in his mind: Luna, her other roommates, Percy, the twins, Hagrid, Snape, even Dumbledore—they were all there.
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