The Halloween Feast.
Down below, the students were happily tucking into the evening's delicacies. The Great Hall's decorations were just as grand as ever—a thousand bats flapped along the walls and ceiling, while another thousand circled overhead like drifting thunderclouds, making the candle flames inside the pumpkins flicker and dance.
Douglas kept a wary eye on the bats, half-expecting one to drop something unpleasant onto his head.
Snape ate from his plate, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Heh. Perhaps someone here considers bats a delicacy?
If that's the case, why is it that, during my lessons, the bats' innards and wings never go missing?"
Douglas rolled his eyes and didn't bother to rise to the bait.
Dumbledore seemed intrigued, his eyes twinkling.
"I recall a sort of bat candy—tiny little things. Pop them in your mouth, and they'll hang upside down from your palate until you open wide, then off they fly…"
No one really picked up the thread. When it came to sweets, even the most enthusiastic Hufflepuff wouldn't pretend to know more than Dumbledore.
Douglas gazed at the giant pumpkins—so large three people could sit inside—wondering if he ought to liven things up a bit. Otherwise, the feast was just too quiet.
In years past, the ghosts would put on a show, or Dumbledore might invite some otherworldly performers—like the Skeleton Dance Troupe.
But this year, no skeletons. Just good food and an air of peaceful contentment.
At that moment, Hagrid leaned over, speaking in what he thought was a whisper:
"Hey, Douglas, aren't those pumpkins something? Grew 'em myself, carved 'em too.
Oh, and fancy a bit of chicken tonight?"
Douglas froze.
Hagrid went on,
"Found a dead rooster earlier, just outside…"
Douglas frowned.
"You mean just one? Not several?"
Hagrid nodded, then shook his head.
"Well, actually, this is the second one this term.
Ate the first one myself…
cough—you were busy that day, so I didn't call you over.
This time, I was thinking maybe you could help me cast a few protection spells around the coop!
If the two chickens hadn't been left behind, I'd have suspected you did it.
You do check my coop nearly every day, after all…"
Hearing this, the other professors all glanced at Douglas.
But Douglas wasn't bothered.
He was more confused by the culprit's methods.
He'd always assumed someone would kill all the chickens at once—who'd have thought they'd do it one by one? What was the point?
Did the basilisk really fear the crow of a rooster or not?
As for his daily visits to the chicken coop—he just made sure the chickens were present. Who had time to count them? He wasn't actually planning to steal one.
Lately, whenever he had a moment, he'd check the Marauder's Map, but had found nothing out of the ordinary.
He'd even snuck into the girls' bathroom twice; his Sneakoscope showed no sign of being triggered.
If Hagrid was right, tonight was likely the night the culprit would strike.
He scanned the four House tables below.
But aside from the trio he knew were at the ghost party, there were still a few students missing from the feast.
After all, the Halloween Feast wasn't mandatory.
There was no way to identify the culprit just by looking at the absentees.
Besides, plenty of students had been looking poorly with colds lately—he couldn't suspect them all.
Noticing Douglas's odd expression, the others also glanced at the House tables.
Professor Sprout asked,
"Douglas, do you think a student's behind all this?
But it's odd to kill a chicken and not take it, isn't it?"
She assumed Douglas suspected a Hufflepuff—after all, her students had a bit of a reputation when it came to food.
The other professors thought Douglas was making a fuss over nothing. Hagrid's hut was right by the Forbidden Forest; animals stealing food was hardly unusual.
Douglas shook his head and smiled, steering the conversation away.
"No, I just think tonight's feast is a bit too quiet."
The professors exchanged skeptical glances—what an unconvincing performance. No one really thought he'd stolen a chicken.
After all, Hagrid hadn't found any cooked remains—now that might have pointed to Douglas…
But before they could dwell on it, Douglas drew his wand and, with a quick flick, cast a spell at the giant pumpkins while the students weren't looking.
Suddenly, the pumpkins split into wide, grinning mouths, cackling as they soared toward the four House tables,
sending the bats into a flurry of chaos.
"Cackle cackle cackle—trick or treat!"
The students below jumped, then quickly caught on—this was tonight's entertainment.
Cheering, they grabbed sweets and biscuits from the tables and tossed them into the pumpkins' gaping mouths.
Seeing the surprised looks, Douglas just shrugged.
"Halloween ought to look a bit more like Halloween, don't you think?"
Professor Flitwick clearly agreed, drawing his wand as well.
Soon, the floating candles above the Great Hall transformed—each flame leapt from its wick, dancing in midair like tiny fire sprites or spectral wisps, swirling around the pumpkin lanterns as if they were the true mischief-makers.
The students craned their necks, watching the flames whirl and twirl overhead.
Except for a few professors, most watched the spectacle with delight.
Professor Kettleburn of Care of Magical Creatures was so excited he suggested letting some of his "little darlings" join in the show.
It took considerable persuasion to talk him down—
everyone remembered the time he enchanted a Fire Crab to play an earthworm in the "Fountain of Good Fortune," and nearly set the whole Hall ablaze.
Since then, no one had dared let his "pets" perform indoors.
Just as the Great Hall reached its peak of merriment,
a sharp, piercing alarm suddenly rang out through the castle…
While everyone was still looking around in confusion,
Douglas halted his spell, returning the pumpkin lanterns to their places.
He turned to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.
"Keep an eye on the students—don't let anyone leave the Hall!"
With that, he dashed for the stairs.
He didn't care what anyone thought, or if Dumbledore would suspect him later.
Ever since he'd started using practical lessons as a test, he'd prepared an excuse for everything.
Now, all that mattered was tracking down the diary, stopping it from wreaking havoc.
Everything else—he could explain later.
Though no one else knew what was happening,
Headmaster Dumbledore quickly calmed the students,
leaving Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick—both Heads of House—and several other staff to watch over them.
He, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape hurried after Douglas…
—
Meanwhile, far from the Hall's festivities,
a very different sort of party was unfolding in a Hogwarts dungeon.
Tiny, flickering blue candles cast an eerie glow,
making even three living faces look sinister and strange.
Ron was horrified to discover that ghosts called a sound like a thousand fingernails scraping a blackboard "music."
The underground classroom was packed with hundreds of pearly, translucent ghosts waltzing to the dreadful, shivering whine of musical saws.
When they saw the long tables covered with slabs of rotting meat, charred cakes, maggoty haggis, and moldy cheese…
Well, not even Sir Nicholas's warm welcome could stop them from suddenly missing the warm, delicious Great Hall.
Here, they ran into Peeves, and from him learned the real reason they'd been invited.
"Aha ha, poor living ones, you've been tricked…
They're terrified the Dark Lord will catch them all, so they went out looking for students to join the deathday party…
They reckon that nasty Dark Lord wouldn't dare slaughter ghosts in front of students…
Cackle cackle…"
Afterward, Peeves cheerfully offered them a bowl of moldy peanuts, his voice sickly sweet:
"Care for a nibble?"
The trio refused, firmly and in unison.
Peeves looked genuinely disappointed…
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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