The Hallowe'en Incident

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Time flew by quickly, and before anyone realized it, Hallowe'en had arrived. By a stroke of luck, Sargeras had been assigned the task of decorating the castle.

He politely declined Professor Flitwick's offer to help, choosing instead to wander the castle halls on his own.

With his wand twirling lightly between his fingers, the very walls of Hogwarts began to ripple and distort, as though the stone itself had become fluid under his touch. Each time the tip of his wand tapped the ground or a surface, a torch on the wall would suddenly ignite with a soft whoosh, blooming into a ghostly blue flame.

Wherever he passed, intricately carved skulls began to emerge from the stone walls, slowly pushing forward until their hollow sockets and grinning jaws became fully visible. Their jaws creaked open and shut as they released eerie, rattling laughter, while flickers of orange-red fire danced within their empty eye sockets, like tiny restless spirits.

Throughout the entire castle, flocks of bats now hung upside down from the ceilings. But these were no ordinary Hallowe'en decorations… they were sentient, jet-black creatures that would suddenly swoop down without warning, halt midair just inches from a student's face, and shriek about taking points off.

"Professor!" called the Fat Lady eagerly, waving frantically from beside the rotating staircase. "We want costumes too!"

Sargeras didn't turn her down. With a graceful flick of his wand, the once-elegant figures in the portrait frames were all transformed into characters straight out of a horror film.

Sir Cadogan's armor was now mottled with rust and crawling with maggots, yet he seemed positively thrilled by the change. "Now that's more like it!" he shouted with gusto, puffing out his chest as though proud of his grotesque makeover.

The Fat Lady, on the other hand, let her hair fall wildly over her face and leaned halfway out of her frame, whispering in a hoarse, gravelly voice to a passing student, "The Password… is… blood…"

But she couldn't hold it in for more than a couple of seconds before bursting into giggles, hastily covering her mouth as she laughed at her own performance.

Even Hagrid's enormous pumpkins had finally found their purpose. These jack-o'-lanterns weren't just for show — they hovered through hallways and floated above doorways, drifting silently like ghostly sentinels. If a young wizard got too close, one of them would suddenly lurch forward and swallow them whole in a single gulp, only to spit them back out after a few moments, looking dazed but unharmed.

And that wasn't all. As the pumpkin lanterns were gulping down their surprised victims, their cavernous mouths would crack wide open and spray passersby with showers of crimson-colored candy… sometimes even spitting out rubber toys for good measure.

Some students, eager to get their hands on the sweets and trinkets, began scheming ways to trick their unsuspecting classmates into touching the pumpkins, then burst into laughter as their friends were promptly devoured.

Thick, grayish-white fog had begun to rise across the entire castle floors, swirling in dense clouds around students' ankles. It felt like wading through soup, one step sinking deeper than the last. And the worst part? If someone lingered too long in one place, pale hands would suddenly reach out from the mist and grab them by the ankle without warning.

Many young wizards lost a shoe or two to those ghostly hands.

As evening fell and the time for the Hallowe'en feast arrived, the moment the students pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, all sound came to an abrupt halt.

The ceiling above them had transformed into a churning ocean of blood-red waves, rolling and crashing overhead. Stormy, leaden clouds loomed ominously above, and now and then, a massive ghost ship would emerge from the gloom, its skeletal crew standing silently on the deck as they hurled burning paper balls down toward the floor below.

The long dining tables had undergone a monstrous transformation. They now resembled the armored backs of giant centipedes, their segmented shells twitching and undulating ever so slightly. The cutlery had turned into sharpened ribs, carefully carved and polished, while the goblets brimmed with a thick, bubbling drink labeled — without a hint of subtlety — as "Brain Juice."

From time to time, candy ghosts would leap out of the serving platters with sudden pops, startling nearby students. Even the cakes and puddings weren't spared from the chaos; they occasionally sprouted thin, pale arms that flailed wildly before bursting apart with sharp cracks, like firecrackers going off in the middle of dinner.

Up on the high table, Dumbledore's seat had turned into a throne of white bones, its structure intricately twisted and regal in its own macabre way. The rest of the professors, seated alongside him, had each been replaced by looming gravestones—some cracked, others covered in faded moss, their names barely visible beneath the flickering torchlight.

Even the house-elves, who were usually rushing around in a blur of energy, had been caught up in the transformation. They now resembled rotting corpses, their skin a sickly gray-green and their movements stiff and unnatural. Yet despite their ghastly appearances, they continued to serve food with mechanical precision, shuffling through the hall in eerie silence as they presented plate after plate of delicious dishes to the students.

All of Hogwarts had been swept up in a wild, wonderful celebration. The younger witches and wizards had never experienced a Halloween quite like this before — everything was thrilling, unexpected, and just scary enough to make it fun.

Well, almost everyone was enjoying it… except for three students.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn't been able to join the festivities. They had been invited instead to attend the deathday party of Nearly Headless Nick, which meant they spent the entire evening in a cold, damp dungeon classroom, surrounded by mournful ghosts singing funeral dirges.

"Did you see the decorations when you walked past the corridor earlier?" Ron's voice broke through the gloomy silence, sounding awkward and out of place against the echoing stone walls. "Those pumpkins that spray candy—"

"Shhhh!" Hermione quickly cut him off with a sharp glare. "Sir Nicholas is giving his speech…"

Nearly Headless Nick hovered solemnly above a pile of decaying organs, his translucent form illuminated by a pale glow. His voice was low and sorrowful as he recited a dirge from five centuries ago, each word soaked in melancholy. All around him, the other ghosts joined in, humming a slow, haunting requiem. The sound was grating, like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard.

Ron stared miserably at the long table before them, which was piled high with moldy food that looked like it hadn't been edible in a hundred years. His stomach gave a loud, disgruntled growl. "It's such a waste… We could've been in the Great Hall having a proper feast, and instead we're stuck here, watching a bunch of ghosts nibble on rotten organs…"

"Stop complaining. At least this is… educational," Hermione replied, though even she didn't sound convinced. "And we can't go back on our word. We made a promise, remember? If we bailed now, they'd be really upset…"

"But—"

"No more, Ron. We're already here," Harry said quietly, his tone weary and resigned.

The three of them endured the rest of the night with as much patience as they could muster. When the gathering finally ended and they stepped out of the underground classroom, they were just about to head to the Great Hall and grab something to eat when Harry suddenly froze.

He heard it again…

A voice, sharp and chilling, echoing inside his head.

"Kill… Kill you… Tear you apart…"

"Did you hear that?" Harry spun around, his face pale as he stared at his two friends.

"What…?"

"That voice!"

"You mean the bats?" Ron asked, blinking in confusion. "Yeah, I heard…"

"No, not that. The one that said it was going to kill someone!"

Ron and Hermione's eyes widened instantly.

"Is this… some kind of Hallowe'en joke?" Ron gave a nervous chuckle, though his face looked tense, as if he wasn't sure whether to laugh or worry.

"I'm not joking!" Harry said firmly, his voice full of urgency. "It was heading this way… I heard it go up here!"

Without another word, he took off at a run, bounding up the stairs. Ron and Hermione had no choice but to chase after him.

They finally came to a stop, breathless and panting, in a dim corridor above the main floor. The heavy fog that had blanketed the castle earlier was now starting to thin and fade, drifting in wisps across the stone tiles. Something was gleaming faintly under the flickering torchlight on the far wall. The three of them stepped forward slowly, squinting to see more clearly.

Words had been scrawled across the stone in bright, blood-red streaks, the thick letters glistening like fresh wounds.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir… beware."

The sentence oozed across the wall like it had been painted in real blood.

Ron let out a weak, uncertain laugh. "So… is this part of the decorations too? Pretty realistic, I'll admit that… though I've got no clue what it means…"

But before he could finish, his voice cut off.

Under the swaying shadows cast by the torch, they saw it. A dark shape hanging stiffly against the stone wall.

Mrs. Norris!

Her body was frozen and rigid, her limbs locked in place, and her tail stuck straight out like a whip. Her eyes were wide open, unnaturally wide, staring blankly, as if frozen mid-scream.

"Is that…" Ron began, but Hermione stepped forward and answered quietly, her tone deadly serious.

"It's Mrs. Norris."

Just then, the soft rumble of voices began to echo from both ends of the corridor.

The feast in the Great Hall had come to an end. Students, now full and satisfied, were heading back to their common rooms, chattering happily among themselves, their footsteps drawing closer to the scene.

Hermione suddenly grabbed both of them by the arm.

"We have to get out of here!"

But her warning came too late.

The flood of students surged into the corridor like a tide, quickly filling the space from both ends and sealing off any chance of escape. The air buzzed with laughter and conversation… until it didn't.

The noise vanished in an instant, as if an invisible hand had clutched the entire corridor by the throat.

A heavy silence fell over the crowd as every student came to a halt, frozen in place. Their eyes locked on the wall. Or more precisely, on the stiff, unmoving body of the cat hanging against the stone wall.

"Wh-what kind of prank is this…?" a trembling voice rose from the group — a Hufflepuff student, his words shaking with fear. "There was clearly nothing there when we walked past earlier…"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still standing right in the middle of the corridor. As the rest of the students backed away like receding waves, the three of them were left alone, isolated in a circle of uneasy space. Though the hallway was packed from end to end with people, not a single soul dared to step any closer.

"Keep moving! Don't stop!" came Filch's hoarse bark from the back of the crowd. "If you stop, those damned hands will grab your shoes again, and I'll be cleaning all night! Hurry up, move!"

He shoved through the throng with jerky, stumbling steps, grumbling as he forced his way to the front. But the moment his eyes landed on the wall — when he truly saw what was hanging there — his expression crumpled in an instant. All the color drained from his deeply lined face, and his lips twisted as though something inside him had broken.

"Mrs. Norris?!" he choked out. His voice cracked, shrill and broken, like a rooster being strangled. He staggered back a few paces, clutching his mouth with a shaking hand. "No… No! Who did this?! Who did this to her?!"

His eyes bulged in fury, and he turned to the gathered students, his gaze sharp and venomous, slithering over the crowd like a snake hunting prey. Then, suddenly, it locked—unmoving—on the three figures standing closest to the scene.

"You…" he rasped, his voice torn with rage. "It was you… You killed her! You'll pay for this—I swear, you'll pay—"

With a wild cry, he lunged forward.

His gnarled, bony fingers curved like claws, reaching straight for Harry. The three of them flinched back in horror, and Ron stumbled into a suit of armor behind him, sending it crashing to the ground with a deafening clang that echoed down the corridor.

"Calm down, Argus."

Dumbledore's voice cut through the chaos like a sudden downpour of cold water.

The old headmaster stepped forward, calm and commanding, his silvery-white beard catching the torchlight and shimmering faintly. Without rushing, he approached the wall and gently lifted Mrs. Norris down, holding her carefully in his arms as he examined her condition with quiet seriousness.

"Bring her to my office, Headmaster!" Lockhart suddenly pushed his way forward, his face lit with exaggerated concern. "Mine's the closest, and—" he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with theatrical flair, "I do happen to have certain… insights into the dark arts."

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore replied with a quiet nod.

Then he turned toward Filch and the three students, his expression unreadable. "You three. Come with me."

The students parted without a word.

The silence was almost eerie now, deeper than before. A clear path opened through the hallway, and Dumbledore walked ahead, his steps steady and deliberate. Behind him followed Filch, cradling the stiff form of Mrs. Norris like a grieving parent, and behind them came Harry, Ron, and Hermione, pale and shaken. The professors fell in behind them, each with a different look on their face — some puzzled, some stern, others merely watchful.

And just like that, the heart of Hogwarts pulsed with unease, the echoes of the evening's horror clinging to the cold stone walls.

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