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Chapter 121: Peeves' Prank
"Miss Granger was just talking about you," Peeves whispered slyly into Myrtle's ear.
"I mean—I mean—you look very beautiful tonight," Hermione quickly turned around and glared at Peeves. If looks could kill, he would have died several times already.
Myrtle looked at Hermione suspiciously. She didn't believe anyone would say nice things about her behind her back.
"You're making fun of me." As soon as the thought crossed her mind, tears began streaming down from her clear eyes.
Unlike most ghosts who remained at Hogwarts after death, Myrtle had been here for nearly fifty years. She had been killed by a Hogwarts student. She hated this place—hated Hogwarts—and even hated the students who hated her.
"You still bully me even after I'm dead," Myrtle sobbed, feeling deeply wronged. She had once been a student here too. But she had died at Hogwarts, while her classmates, younger students, and generations after them had all graduated and left.
Everyone else could leave Hogwarts. Only she remained—mocked in life, and mocked again in death.
"Absolutely not, really! I was just saying you look nice today," Hermione insisted, elbowing Harry and Ron sharply in the ribs. The two of them had no idea how to handle this. She shot a glance at George, but he remained indifferent, as if enjoying the scene.
"Yes—she did say that," Harry blurted out after Hermione jabbed him.
"Uh… yeah," Ron added awkwardly, wincing. He regretted coming here.
George said nothing. He had no intention of flattering an annoying ghost. If he were alone, he'd probably just draw his wand, silence them, and drive them away.
"Don't try to fool me," Myrtle gasped between sobs, feeling utterly humiliated. If she could leave, she would have fled Hogwarts long ago. She hated the students just as much as they hated her.
Behind her, Peeves cackled with delight. Myrtle was his favorite target. Other ghosts were harder to deal with, but Myrtle was easy—too fragile. A simple trick was enough to make her cry.
"Do you know what people call you?" Peeves jeered as he circled her. "Fat Myrtle! Ugly, glasses-wearing Myrtle! Crybaby Myrtle! Moody Myrtle! Pimple-faced Myrtle!"
"Ahhh!" Unable to take it anymore, Myrtle let out a piercing wail and fled the underground classroom. Peeves chased after her gleefully, throwing moldy peanuts that passed straight through her translucent body.
"Pimple-faced Myrtle! Crying Myrtle! Everyone hates you—you're driving them mad!" he shouted as he pursued her.
"Oh my God…" Hermione said sadly. "Peeves is awful. He's just terrible."
At that moment, Nearly Headless Nick floated over from the crowd.
"Are you enjoying yourselves?" he asked.
"Oh—yes, very much," they all lied.
"The number of guests is quite satisfactory," Nick said proudly. "I have many friends—the Weeping Widow came all the way from Kent… Now then, I must go prepare my speech. I'll have the band play something appropriate."
Just then, the music suddenly stopped. The entire underground hall fell silent. Everyone looked around excitedly as the sound of hunting horns echoed through the chamber.
"Oh no…" Nearly Headless Nick said miserably.
Suddenly, twelve ghostly horses burst through the walls, each carrying a headless rider. The entire crowd rose to their feet and applauded enthusiastically.
Harry and the others started to clap as well—but when they saw Nick's expression grow even more miserable, they quickly stopped.
The twelve ghostly horses galloped into the center of the dance floor, then came to a sudden halt, rearing up on their hind legs before pawing the air. The leading rider was enormous and imposing, holding his bearded head tucked under his arm. With a blast of his horn, he leapt down.
He raised his head high and looked down at everyone, drawing loud laughter from the crowd.
Then he shoved his head roughly back onto his neck and strode toward Nearly Headless Nick.
"Nick!" he bellowed. "Still hanging on by a thread, are you?"
He laughed rudely and slapped Nick on the shoulder.
"Welcome, Patrick," Nick said stiffly.
"Alive people!" Patrick suddenly spotted Harry and the others. He pretended to be shocked, leaping into the air—only for his head to fall off again, which sent the crowd into fits of laughter.
"How amusing," Nick said flatly, looking even more miserable. Patrick clearly knew he had stolen the spotlight.
"Don't mind Nick!" Patrick's head shouted from the floor. "We know he's still bitter about not getting into the Headless Hunt—but just look at him! What do we hunters want?"
"I think…" Harry caught Nick's encouraging glance and hurriedly said, "I think Nick is both terrifying and… funny!"
"Haha!" Patrick's head laughed. "Sounds like he taught you that."
"Everyone, attention! I will now begin my speech!" Nearly Headless Nick called out loudly. With Patrick's arrival, he didn't want to delay any longer.
He stepped onto the platform, illuminated by a cold blue light.
"My honored lords, ladies, and gentlemen… at this solemn moment, my heart is filled with deep sorrow…"
He tried to deliver his carefully prepared speech, but soon realized no one was listening.
Patrick and the members of the Headless Hunt were making a racket—playing a chaotic game of head hockey. Everyone turned to watch them, completely ignoring Nick.
(To be continued.)