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Chapter 115
Filch was even more agitated than Harry. His pale face had turned bright red. Harry lowered his head, bracing himself for an outburst. Limping over to the desk, Filch grabbed the envelope and shoved it into a drawer.
"You… you peeked at it?" he stammered anxiously.
"No!" Harry replied without hesitation.
Filch waved his ugly hands wildly, as if he wanted to strangle someone. "If I find out you were snooping into my… my private matters… no, not mine—something I was looking at for a friend… no matter whose it is… but—"
Harry stayed on high alert, ready to bolt at any moment. He had never seen Filch this furious—not even when Peeves dumped garbage on his head. This was anger, but something more frightening too.
His eyes looked like they might pop out of their sockets, the flesh on his cheeks twitched uncontrollably, and the checkered scarf around his neck seemed about to burst from the swelling beneath. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Filch suddenly started killing someone.
"All right… you may go… don't breathe a word of this… I mean… since you didn't peek… just go. I need to write a report about Peeves… go…"
Harry could hardly believe it. Filch's reaction was even stranger than if he had attacked him. But Harry didn't hesitate—he darted out of the office like a flash, sped down the corridor, and ran upstairs before he even had time to catch his breath.
Escaping Filch's office without punishment—this was practically a record in the school.
He seemed to have discovered a major secret about Filch, yet he had no intention of using it against him. "He probably wants to kill me—but he definitely can't catch me," Harry thought.
"Harry! Are you all right? Did it work?"Nearly Headless Nick suddenly floated through a door.
Behind him, Harry saw scattered black-and-gold fragments—clearly what had once been a cabinet, now smashed to pieces.
"I told Peeves to knock down the cabinet above Filch's office," Nick explained. "I thought it would distract him."
Nick had seen Harry being dragged away earlier and had been worried. To help him, he had encouraged Peeves to create chaos.
"Oh—it was you!" Harry said gratefully. No wonder Peeves had been making such a racket. "That's great—I wasn't punished. You know, escaping from that place isn't easy. Thank you so much, Nick."
As they walked, Harry noticed Nick was still holding the letter from Sir Patrick—the one rejecting his application to the Headless Hunt.
"About the Headless Hunt… is there anything I can do to help?" Harry asked carefully. Since Nick had helped him, he wanted to return the favor if possible.
Nearly Headless Nick stopped immediately. "You really could do me a favor," he said eagerly. "Harry, perhaps it's too much to ask—but… well… maybe you won't think so…"
"Let's hear it," Harry said calmly. Of course, it had to be something within his ability.
"Well… this year marks the five-hundredth anniversary of my death," Nick said, groaning dramatically, then placing a hand on his chest with a proud expression.
"Oh," Harry replied cautiously, unsure whether he should feel happy or sorry about that.
"I'll be holding a party in a spacious underground dungeon, inviting friends from all over the country. It would be a great honor if you could attend. Of course, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be very welcome as well… but I imagine you'd prefer the school's Halloween feast, wouldn't you?"
Nick looked at him anxiously, clearly expecting rejection. After all, who would choose a party for the dead over the school's grand Halloween celebration?
"No, I'd rather come to your party," Harry said. It didn't seem like a big deal to him—and the Halloween feast wasn't that special anyway. He always worried that the thousands of bats flying around the ceiling would shake loose a lot of dust.
"Oh, wonderful, my dear boy! Harry Potter will attend my Deathday Party!" Nick looked absolutely delighted. He had never had the chance to invite someone like Harry before.
"If you could… perhaps say a word to Sir Patrick? Just one sentence—tell him you think I'm terrifying and impressive… could you?" he added hesitantly, unable to stop himself.
"Of course," Harry agreed. It was simple enough.
Nick, though nearly headless, beamed happily and floated alongside Harry all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. Only when Harry entered the common room did he finally stop, watching from a distance.
"Nick's Deathday Party?"Hermione looked intrigued. She had never imagined such a strange event. "I'm sure very few people get to attend something like that. It must be fascinating."
By now, Harry had changed out of his muddy Quidditch robes into clean clothes. Sitting in the common room with a steaming cup of coffee, he relaxed beside his friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.
"Who celebrates the day they died?" Ron muttered, clearly unimpressed as he worked on his Potions homework. Professor Snape would never tolerate mistakes. Apart from Hermione, neither he nor Harry had much hope of getting decent marks.
"For humans, it's death; for ghosts, it might be a kind of rebirth," Hermione argued. She was always curious about unusual things. As for her Potions homework—it was already finished.
Even Snape couldn't mark her work unfairly—it would be too obvious. Though his hatred for Harry annoyed her, he couldn't stop her from answering questions correctly or refuse to award her points when she deserved them.
After all, he still cared about appearances.
Of course, when it came to Harry, Snape had no such restraint. He could mark Harry's carefully written homework poorly for no reason, challenge him with impossible questions, and mock or humiliate him openly in class.
(To be continued…)