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Harry Potter Squib Tales Chapter 47
🕑 Added 2024-08-10 17:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter 47: Death Days
As I put away the dishes after a nice and simple pasta dinner, I couldn’t help but worry about the lack of news regarding my most recent scheme. It’d been a week since Remus Lupin and I had sent the messenger bat to Sirius Black, and so far, there was no word. Had Wiggles made it? Did the spells work?
There was no way to know, and nothing else to do but wait, as much as it grated. I didn’t know the first thing about escaping a prison, let alone one like Azkaban. The island was as much a place to keep the Dementors in check as it was to punish criminals.
The history of Azkaban was an odd one. It had been the home of a mad Dark Lord named Ekrizdis in the 15th century, and after his death, it was discovered to have a major infestation of Dementors. And, in yet another stunning display of incompetence, the British Ministry of Magic decided to use it to hold their criminals.
See, Dementors were an ancient evil, with records dating back to Ancient Sumer describing these abominations. They mainly tended to roam colder reaches where their unearthly chill would be harder to detect by their prey, but they could live anywhere. They were known as Djinn in the Middle East, and they were the inspiration for the Grim Reaper in Europe. Nobody was certain how the Lethifolds of South America were related to them, but all sorts of academic papers had been written on them.
Including by Nicholas Flamel. His journal had a lot of info on Dementors, including how to eliminate them. Despite what the Ministry told people, there were ways to eliminate these soul-eating pests. Magic was capable of anything, after all.
But these methods weren’t easy to use, with only the most powerful spells and rituals able to harm them. Dementors were also solitary predators that reproduced by ingesting souls and then spitting out a copy of themselves so the majority of methods to deal with Dementors were meant for a single target. And due to their threat, they were supposed to be eliminated on the spot if discovered.
By the start of the 15th century, the Dementor population had dwindled to less than a hundred world-wide, before they all mysteriously vanished. So it was a nasty shock to find they had all somehow gathered at Azkaban without anyone noticing. Worse, there were around a thousand lurking on the island. They’d begun reproducing, using the island as a sort of nest to avoid the prying eyes of wizarding kind while stealing sailors. The Ministry of Magic had sealed it off, but that was only delaying the problem.
Desperate to contain the threat, but not willing to spend the resources to finally eliminate this unnatural species or loss face from the international community, the Minister of Magic at the time made the idiotic choice to cut a deal with the monsters.
Thus, in 1703, the Ministry foolishly turned the island into a prison as a way to keep the last known Dementors in the world out of the way in compliance with the recently implemented Statute of Secrecy.
Shaking my head at the stupidity of the magical world, I turned my mind to another topic: school. Classes at Oxford had begun, and I was slowly getting back into the rhythm. Attend class, turn in projects I lamented the loss of time for my side businesses and strongly considered finding a way to get my hands on a Time Turner just to keep up.
‘At least with Inky at my side, I can appear at the Oxford campus in mere seconds, meaning I’ll never be late for class unless I wanted to be,’ I thought with a chuckle.
Yet out of the blue, there was a knock at the door which distracted me, and I turned to it, surprised. Who would be trying to contact me this late at night? Halloween wasn’t until tomorrow!
“Um, hello?” I said as I answered the door.
“Good evening, Mr. Rose,” an elderly man with old, weathered features and a beard that you could lose an entire meal in said in greeting. He was dressed in a formal black suit and tie combo, but also had a dark blue mantle over his shoulders.
“Evening,” I said slowly. This man seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it…
“My name is Mr. Winkle,” he said.
“Winkle? Are you related to Old Barry Winkle? One of the oldest men alive?” I asked in surprise.
“I am indeed he. Wee Willy Winkle, at your service,” he said with a grin, bowing his head politely.
I stared at him in shock for longer than I was proud of, before shaking my head and recovering. “Where are my manners! Would you care to come in?” I asked him, and he nodded.
I stepped aside, ushering him into my apartment, where he sat down at the table with a smile as he looked around.
“Well lived in,” he complimented. “And there’s a medley of scents I recognize. A potioneer, are you, young man?”
“I dabble,” I admitted as I sat down. “Can I get you tea? Coffee? Water?”
“Mmm. I’m fine, thank you. And you more than dabble. Still, a humbler home than I expected from the founder of Cauldron Remedies,” he said, and I tensed up.
“No need to worry. I don’t care one wit about the Statute, and personally think what you’re doing is hilarious,” Barry Winkle replied, giving me a knowing wink.
“May I ask why you are here, then?” I inquired curiously, not ready to relax quite yet.
At that, the ancient man’s expression turned somber. “I am here as executor of the Last Will and Testament of Mr. and Mrs. Flamel,” he revealed.
I reared back in shock, eyes wide.
“So, they finally passed away,” I uttered, stunned. I knew it’d happen eventually, but I could hardly believe it was so soon!
“The news will break some time tomorrow morning, when the French government has had time to get their own affairs in order,” Barry Winkle stated. “The two were quite influential, and their deaths will have the nation reeling.”
“I see,” I murmured. I wiped a tear from eye, and took a shuddering breath to collect myself. I didn’t dip into Occlumency, no matter how I wished to.
‘They’d be happy to know their lessons stuck,’ I thought to myself with a bit of amusement. I would cry for them, but I would not despair. I, more than anybody else, knew death was not the end.
“I hope wherever they end up next, they live their lives together again,” I said softly.
“Indeed,” Barry Winkle agreed. “Now, not to cheapen the moment, but I must move on to other business.”
“Of course,” I muttered. “How can I help you?”
“In the Will, the Flamels have left you a few things. One million galleons, paid into your Gringotts account, and ten million United States Dollars, accessible through a Swiss bank account. Here is the bank info,” he informed me, and I stared at him in shock at that.
“That’s…” I murmured as I accepted the paperwork from him. “That’s a lot of money!”
Not nearly as much as I’d made by copying what George Soros had done through short changing the pound in September – I’d made a sizable amount that way, over twenty-five million U.S. dollars – but it was still a tidy sum.
“Indeed. And the third and final item they left you was a rather lovely vacation villa in New Orleans. It was a summer home they had built there centuries ago, but never used it much. They would prefer to have somebody use it,” Mr. Winkle said. “Here’s the key… the deed… and some other information for it.”
“I’m honored,” I said, touched by their consideration towards me.
“They saw great things in your future,” the other immortal noted. “Considering ol’ Nicky left you his journal.”
“You know about that?” I asked, surprised.
“I also know what the Flamels’ ultimate plan was. Their magnum opus. Their Grand Ritual,” Barry Winkle admitted. “I was privy to some of the details of it, and know that it will take a lot of time and resources to set up. The sooner, the better. Hence, the money, to hopefully be used to that end. Of course, you can do with it as you will. But I have a feeling you’ll find some way to use it.”
“Do you agree?” I asked after a moment. “With their plan, I mean.”
“I wish that it did not have to come to such a thing,” Barry Winkle replied sadly. “But I see the need of it.”
“Will the other immortals interfere?” I inquired.
“Of the ones who knew what Nick was planning, only two might try and interfere. I would keep an eye out for anything – or anyone – unusual coming to London from Las Vegas or Constantinople.”
“Any names you can give me?” I asked hopefully, but he shook his head.
“As much as I disagree with them, they are still my friends. And I have precious few still alive. I have done as much as I am willing by giving you what I already have,” the ancient man said.
“Thank you,” I said, disappointed but understanding.
“Well, I must be off,” one of the oldest men alive said, standing up and bowing his head politely towards me. “Thank you for the hospitality.”
“Of course,” I replied. “Have a safe trip back.”
“Not much out there that can threaten little old me,” Barry Winkle laughed. “But I appreciate the concern. Stay well, boy.”
He then left, leaving through the front door and closing it behind him. I let out a faint sigh when we was gone, and looked down at the paperwork in front of me.
“So much money,” I muttered. “And a house? What on Earth am I going to do with a whole house? And in New Orleans of all places?”
‘I need to investigate it, and find out what the magical scene in the city is like,’ I thought to myself. ‘On the bright side, a place on a whole other hemisphere might just be what I need to keep Sirius Black out of the way until his trial.’
As I went over the events from earlier in the evening, I idly picked up the key to the mansion I now owned. And wasn’t that a shock? Who’d have thought I’d inherit millions like this?
‘Or that I’d be a property owner,’ I thought to myself with a bitter chuckle, recalling the tiny apartment I’d lived in back in my old life.
After a bit more contemplating on how my life has gone so far, I eventually decided to put it on the backburner. A yawn escaped me, and I grunted a bit, feeling tired and overwhelmed. It was time for bed. I still had things to do tomorrow. Time for bed.
‘I wonder how Harry is doing?’ I thought to myself as I got ready for bed. Thinking about death had reminded me that in canon, Harry had attended Nearly Headless Nick’s Deathday party.
‘Which is tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken,’ I mused.
I hoped he would have fun regardless if he went to it or not in this timeline.
&&&&&
Harry POV
“You know, this is somehow not what I expected… and yet it’s also exactly how I assumed ghosts would celebrate something called a Deathday,” Harry admitted in a low voice as he looked around the room in the dungeons that’d been set aside for use by Gryffindor’s house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick.
At his side, Neville shivered but nodded in agreement. There were dozens of spooky specters floating about, causing the already chilly dungeon to get even colder. Harry was glad Percy (who’d come along as a chaperon) had cast warming charms on everyone.
In fact, all of the Gryffindor Second Years and some from other years were in attendance, including the entire Quidditch team, Harry having convinced them that it would be a nice gesture for the ghost who was sort of their house’s mascot when Nick had asked if Harry would attend the event. And since Harry wasn’t really a fan of Halloween, he was fine with skipping the feast to hang out with some dead people. He did make sure there was food fit for human consumption, though. Rotten food wasn’t very appetizing.
“I didn’t know ghosts could cry,” Susan muttered to herself as she watched the not-quite decapitated ghost of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington beam with pride and joy at all the people from his house who’d showed up. He had silvery streaks on his cheeks everyone was kind enough not to mention.
Susan, Hannah, and Luna were the only students from other houses who’d shown up, with the latter sticking close to and hanging out with Ginny all evening, but Harry didn’t mind. He’d extended the offer to a few others, but understood why nobody else had been interested. Heck, even some of the other Gryffindors were a bit unnerved attending and being around so many ghosts.
‘House of the Brave my arse,’ he thought to himself with an amused snort.
“Oi!”
“Harry-kin!”
Harry looked over at the Weasley Twins as they sauntered over. They had mugs of butterbeer in hand and wide grins.
“Never thought we’d get to go to a Deathday Party,” Fred (?) said.
“Thanks for inviting us!” George (?) replied. “A real riot!”
“No problem,” Harry shrugged. “I’m surprised nobody from Gryffindor has done so before.”
“True. At least some of the Firsties are having fun,” Fred (or was it George?) commented, and Harry glanced over at the small group of Muggleborn First Years looking excited. And… was one of them taking pictures of the event?
“Do ghosts even show up on photos?” Harry couldn’t help but wonder, and George (or maybe Fred?) shrugged.
“Dunno. I heard from dad Muggles sometimes take photos of ‘em which means it’s possible.”
Harry wasn’t so sure any of the so-called ‘ghosts’ captured on film by Muggle tabloids were of actual ghosts, but maybe they were. Would make sense if the photographers were Squibs trying to make some money.
‘And now I have to wonder about other mysteries and cryptids being real or Squib hoaxes,’ Harry mused. ‘I’ll have to ask Ed about that.’
As he was thinking to himself, four ghosts floated over to him, and he put his thoughts away to greet them.
“Hello,” he said politely, nodding his head towards Nearly Headless Nick and the House Ghosts for the other Houses.
“Harry, my boy! Thank you for attending! And bringing so many people with you!” Nearly Headless Nick said happily. “Why, this has been my best Deathday ever!”
“Glad you enjoyed it,” Harry said with a smile. “And, uh, I hope you don’t mind that I asked the House Elves to prepare some food for the more mortal guests.”
“Oh, yes, no problem at all!” the Fat Friar assured him. “Ghostly cuisine is not for the faint of heart!”
“Indeed. It was quick thinking,” the Grey Lady said, scrutinizing the boy in front of her, as if seeing him in a new light. The Bloody Baron just huffed, but gave Harry a polite bob of his head, chains rattling a bit.
Harry smiled back at them. “Anyways, I was wondering about what it was like to be dead…”
He chatted some more with the ghosts, but the party was soon interrupted by loud neighing and braying and whooping and hollering, and without warning dozens of ghostly specters burst into the chamber, flying around and tossing round objects amongst themselves while seated on the backs of ghostly horses.
“What is that?!” a Fourth Year exclaimed, though after the first couple of seconds the shock quickly wore off.
“Maybe they’re late comings?” Lavender Brown wondered. “I’ve heard it’s fashionable to be late. Though that always seemed rude to me.”
“Nicky-boy!” one of the riders called out, riding down to where the House Ghosts were hovering. His head was tucked under his armpit, but despite that he managed to look down his nose at the Gryffindor ghost.
“Hullo, Patrick,” Nick said in an annoyed voice.
“Heard about your request to join us again, but I’m afraid the answer is still ‘no,’ same as last year,” the rider declared, smirking down at the not-quite-headless phantom. “Since it’s your Deathday and all, I thought I should deliver the rejection in person.”
“Who’s he?” Harry asked, thoroughly unimpressed by the rudeness on display.
“Ah. That would be Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore, leader of the Headless Hunt,” Nearly Headless Nick said, somewhat despondently.
“The Headless Hunt?” Harry asked. And now that he looked closer, Harry could see that the objects being passed around by the other mounted ghosts were the ghosts own severed heads!
“Yes. They’re all spirits who died due to decapitation and participate in various head-based activities like head juggling, head polo, and so on,” Nick said a bit enviously. “I’ve often asked to join, but they’ve always turned me down.”
“Do they often show up to your Deathday parties just to say ‘no?’” Neville asked, and when Nick nodded, the pudgy Second Year gave him a sympathetic look.
“Seems a bit rude to just barge in uninvited to somebody else’s party,” Katie Bell muttered, her fellow ladies on the Quidditch team nodding in agreement.
“Excuse me! How exactly does that work?” Hermione abruptly asked, hand in the air, causing all the ghosts to turn to her in confusion.
“Are you seriously asking how the Headless Hunt works?” Sir Patrick asked, his severed head blinking in bewilderment at the bushy-haired girl. “Wait, why is there a living girl here?”
He then looked around, realizing his audience consisted of more mortals than usual. “Actually, why are there so many of the living here at all?”
“Ah, they’re from my House,” Nicholas said proudly. “They heard it was my five hundredth Deathday, and they came to celebrate it with us!”
The other headless horsemen all looked amongst each other, one or two nudging their neighbors in amusement while a couple seemed taken aback by the kindness and loyalty of the living towards the dead.
“I was just curious, because I know Hogwarts has a large population of ghosts but I’ve never seen any ghostly horses before now – or of any animals really!” Hermione admitted. “How does that work? I thought only wizards and witches could become ghosts. Is there a spell for turning pets into ghosts along with you? And how can you ride them? Can ghosts touch other ghosts? Does that mean that technically, any of the ghosts here could ride on somebody else’s shoulders?”
Hermione continued to blabber a bit, making a few of the riders’ eyes glaze over. “Also, why even ride horses at all? What purpose does it serve beyond aesthetics since a human ghost doesn’t get tired and can also float in the air about as fast as the horses seem to be able to?”
“I’d like to know that as well,” Luna added, raising her hand as well. Beside her Ginny facepalmed, clearly a bit embarrassed, but at the same time smiling fondly at her friend’s antics.
Sir Patrick opened and closed his mouth for a moment, trying to formulate a response, before spinning right around and exiting the room. For a few seconds the rest of the Headless Hunt just floated there, as confused and surprised as the rest of guests at the abrupt departure before following after their leader, leaving the party behind.
As soon as they left Nearly Headless Nick began to chuckle, when soon turned into full blown guffaws. He laughed so hard his head bounced off of his shoulders and dangled from the strip of flesh, which set off the rest of the ghostly partygoers.
“She should have been in Ravenclaw,” the Grey Lady said fondly, pouting a bit as she watched a few ghosts float over to Hermione and answer a few of her questions.
“Ha! More like she’s a true Gryffindor! Only somebody truly brave and unafraid would ask so many questions of a ghost!” Nick declared, finally calming down a bit as he reattached his head. He then floated over to Hermione with a grateful smile. “Thank you, my dear, that made my day!”
“Oh, of course, no problem,” Hermione said, blinking a bit. It was obvious to Harry she didn’t know why she was being thanked, and that made the Boy-Who-Lived smile.
The party was a bit livelier after that, the ice broken between ghosts and mortals and the denizens of Hogwarts past and present chatted and mingled a bit more.
Nearly Headless Nick went around the room, speaking with each of the Gryffindor students who’d showed up. The Fat Friar spoke with Hannah and Susan, praising them for their inter-house comradery, which made them blush, and the Grey Lady spent some time listening to Luna babble about this and that, a fond smile on her face. Even Moaning Myrtle, the lonesome and weepy ghost of the girl’s bathroom on the second floor, seemed to be having fun chatting with Neville and some Muggleborn students.
Eventually though it had to end. Percy informed the students that dinner was over in the Great Hall, and it was time to head back to the dorms before curfew. With that, the mortal party-goers exited en mass together, bidding farewell to the ghosts and marking an end to a lovely Halloween.
Yet as they ascended the stairs out of the dungeons on their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry blinked and began to look around in confusion.
~“Kill… time to kill… blood… smell blood!~
“Everything alright, Harry?” Ron asked.
“Does anyone else hear that?” Harry asked instead, frowning.
“Hearing what?” Hannah asked. The corridor was rather noisy thanks to all the students making their way up.
“I dunno… but there’s somebody talking about blood,” Harry revealed.
“Mayhaps it’s one of the girls,” George (or maybe Fred) suggested with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“Aye, perhaps its that time of the month,” Fred (or maybe George) offered with a smirk, only for both to let out an “Oof!” as the Quidditch Chasers socked them both in the stomach for that off-color joke.
“Sorry, Harry, I don’t hear anything,” Neville apologized.
“Me neither,” Susan replied.
“Yeah. Anyways, this is our floor, we gotta go,” Hannah said, and the two Hufflepuffs left, going off back to their dorm.
Shrugging to himself, Harry bid them farewell, and put the odd voice out of his head. If it was import, it’d come up again later.
However, when they reached the second floor, things took a dark turn as one of the students up ahead let out a groan. “Ugh! The floor is all wet!”
“Myrtle’s flooded the bathroom again,” an older girl complained.
“No she didn’t,” Luna said, the young Ravenclaw Firstie still with them. “She was at the party.”
“She was,” Harry confirmed. “Unless she can flood the place from down there, she’s been with us all night.”
Murmurs began to echoed up and down the hallways, only for a scream to pierce the air. Like a herd of lemmings, the Gryffindors rushed towards the source of the noise, and found some of the Third Years staring up in horror at something on the wall.
As they crowded around and were joined by students from the other Houses who were leaving the Halloween feast, Harry gulped as he saw Mrs. Norris hanging from a wall sconce, unnaturally stiff.
“D-did somebody kill her?” Hermione wondered in horror.
“That’s not all they did!” Angelina exclaimed, pointing up at some words written in a disturbingly red liquid beneath the cat.
“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemy’s of the heir, beware!” somebody read aloud, and a shiver ran down Harry’s spine for some reason.
‘Is that what Ed was warning me about?’ he wondered as more and more people from other houses began to gather, drawn by the commotion. ‘It must be!’
He heard Draco shout something about “You’ll be next, Mudbloods!” only for a furious McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick to each deduct fifteen points for that sort of language, but Harry wasn’t really paying attention.
Instead, he couldn’t help but feel that something was about to happen, and this was only the beginning of a greater mystery.
Comments
Catherine Colin
Yay! Chamber time
