155 Deathday Party pt.4 (1/2)
They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Draco wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts. Both of them made eye contact with each other and nodded in greeting.
”Oh, no,” said Hermione, stopping abruptly. ”Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle —”
”Who?” said Harry as they backtracked quickly.
”She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor,” said Hermione.
”She haunts a toilet?”
”Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you—”
”Look, food!” said Ron.
On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish was laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,
SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON
DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492
Draco watched, lazily, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.
”Can you taste it if you walk through it?” Harry asked him.
”Almost,” said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.
”I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor,” said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.
”It's more of a feeling actually.” Draco commented, ”Spirits or ghost, are attracted to the rotten feeling as it gives off a negative aura in the air. Which correlates with the spirits.”
”Can we move? I feel sick,” said Ron.
They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.
”Hello, Peeves,” said Harry cautiously.
Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.
”Nibbles?” he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
”No thanks,” said Hermione.
”Heard you talking about poor Myrtle,” said Peeves, his eyes dancing. ”Rude you was about poor Myrtle.” He took a deep breath and bellowed, ”OY! MYRTLE!”
”Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset,” Hermione whispered frantically. ”I didn't mean it, I don't mind her — er, hello, Myrtle.”
The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Draco had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
”What?” she said sulkily.
”How are you, Myrtle?” said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. ”It's nice to see you out of the toilet.”
Draco was amused on the side as it was quite rare to see Hermione acting fake, he wondered how weird Myrtle might be to make even Hermione act awkward.
Myrtle sniffed.
”Miss Granger was just talking about you —” said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear. ”Just saying —”
”Just saying — saying — how nice you look tonight,” said Hermione, glaring at Peeves. Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.
”You're making fun of me,” she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.
”No — honestly — didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?” said Hermione, nudging Draco painfully in the ribs who was gleaming at her.
”Oh, yeah, she was telling us how nice you were.” Draco said with a weird tone.