HP and the Parseltongue Chronicles - Chapter - 20

The Great Hall was awash in shades of pink, red, and gold. Glittering heart-shaped confetti floated through the air, enchanted to never touch the tables. Long chains of roses draped the walls, their petals glowing softly in the candlelight. Professor Lockhart, wearing robes of blinding magenta, stood at the front of the Hall, beaming proudly.

"Welcome, my dear students!" Lockhart trilled, his voice echoing. "To Hogwarts' first-ever Valentine's Day extravaganza! Love is in the air, and so is magic!"

Harry cringed as Lockhart gestured grandly to a group of dwarves dressed as cherubs, armed with golden harps and bows. One waddled toward a mortified Ron Weasley, who turned an alarming shade of red.

“Get away from me!” Ron hissed as the dwarf began a loud, off-key serenade about love potions and star-crossed destinies.

“Brilliant,” Hermione whispered sarcastically. “Just what we needed.”

Harry chuckled, but his amusement didn’t last. As he looked around, he noticed Nearly-Headless Nick floating near the Gryffindor table, his silvery figure unusually dim. He wasn’t smiling or chatting as he usually did during feasts. Instead, his head hung low, and he muttered to himself, gliding in distracted circles.

“Sir Nicholas?” Harry called softly. Nick looked up sharply, his head wobbling precariously on his ghostly neck.

“Oh, Harry,” he said, his voice strained. “Lovely evening, isn’t it? Simply... lovely.”

Hermione frowned. “You don’t seem yourself. Is everything alright?”

Nick hesitated, looking as if he wanted to answer, but a sudden crash interrupted him. A giant heart-shaped ice sculpture at the Slytherin table shattered into a thousand pieces, sending shards of enchanted ice flying everywhere. The students screamed, and Professor Snape, his face stony, waved his wand to repair the damage.

But the Great Hall didn’t calm. The floating confetti began to swirl wildly, and the candles flickered and dimmed. A bone-chilling draft swept through the room, carrying with it a low, mournful moan that made the hairs on Harry’s neck stand on end.

“What was that?” Neville whispered, clutching his goblet.

Harry’s eyes darted around the hall. At the Hufflepuff table, the Fat Friar looked visibly shaken, his usually jolly demeanor replaced by concern. The Grey Lady floated silently toward the staff table, her face grim. Even Peeves, who had been enjoying pelting the dwarves with bits of pudding, froze mid-air, his grin faltering.

Nick hovered stiffly, his translucent hands twitching. “I must... excuse myself,” he said hastily, disappearing through the wall before anyone could stop him.

Before Harry could process what was happening, an eerie voice echoed through the Hall: “Justice will be served...”

Gasps filled the room as the voice faded, leaving an unsettling silence. Lockhart, oblivious to the tension, clapped his hands. “Ah, a little magical ambiance to enhance the mood! Wonderful, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” Neville muttered. “What kind of voice was that?”

The feast resumed, though the mood was significantly dimmed. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

Later that evening, Harry, Hermione, and Neville sat by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Heart-shaped decorations still clung stubbornly to their robes, despite their best efforts to remove them.

“What do you think that was all about?” Neville asked, poking at the fire with a stick.

“It couldn’t have been a prank,” Hermione said. “The ghosts were clearly shaken, too.”

“Even Peeves,” Neville added. “He never looks scared.”

Harry frowned. “Nick looked like he knew something. Maybe it’s got to do with him?”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “We should talk to him tomorrow. If this is something serious, we can’t ignore it.”

The next morning, Harry, Neville, and Hermione decided to pay a visit to Moaning Myrtle. They were still shaken by the eerie voice from the Valentine's Day feast and felt it was worth asking her if she knew anything. Myrtle, the resident ghost of the girls' bathroom, was known for her mood swings and tendency to sulk, but she also had a knack for overhearing things most people wouldn’t.

The trio entered the gloomy, damp bathroom, where the constant dripping of water echoed off the tiled walls. Myrtle was floating near the sink, her translucent form curled up as though she were sitting on an invisible chair. She let out a loud, exaggerated sigh when she noticed them.

“Oh, it’s you lot,” Myrtle said, her voice tinged with her usual melodrama. “Come to laugh at poor, miserable Myrtle?”

“Not at all, Myrtle,” Hermione said quickly, her tone warm and patient. “We actually need your help.”

Myrtle blinked, her demeanor shifting slightly. “My help?” she repeated, her tone curious but suspicious. “Why would you need my help? No one ever needs Myrtle’s help.”

Harry stepped forward. “We’re trying to figure out what that voice was during the Valentine’s feast yesterday. The one that said, ‘Justice will be served.’ Do you know anything about it?”

Myrtle floated closer, her expression growing more serious. “Oh, that voice,” she said, a hint of fear in her tone. “Of course I know it. Everyone knows it.”

Neville frowned. “Who was it?”

Myrtle crossed her arms, her ghostly form hovering just above the floor. “That was Sir Edmund,” she said dramatically. “The ghost who guards Hogwarts from the shadows.”

The trio exchanged glances, their interest piqued.

“Guards Hogwarts?” Hermione asked. “What do you mean?”

Myrtle sighed, gliding over to perch on the edge of the sink. “Sir Edmund is one of the oldest ghosts in the castle. He was a knight—died defending Hogwarts during a siege centuries ago. But he didn’t just stay to haunt the castle like the rest of us. Oh, no. He was bound here by some ancient magic, given a purpose.”

“To guard Hogwarts?” Harry pressed.

Myrtle nodded. “That’s what they say. He’s supposed to protect the school from threats—inside and out. But he’s not like your precious Nearly-Headless Nick or that irritating Peeves. Sir Edmund doesn’t show himself unless he has a reason.”

“Why now, though?” Neville asked. “Why show up at the feast and say something like that?”

Myrtle’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because Sir Edmund only cares about one thing: honor. If he thinks someone’s dishonored the ghosts of Hogwarts or the castle itself, he’ll make his presence known. And trust me, he doesn’t take it lightly.”

Harry, Hermione, and Neville found the Gryffindor ghost hovering near the Gryffindor common room window. His usually polished demeanor was in shambles—his ruffled collar drooped, and his translucent figure flickered faintly in the morning light. He greeted them with a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed his unease.

“Sir Nicholas,” Hermione began softly, approaching him. “We heard about Sir Edmund.”

Nick let out a dramatic sigh, his head tilting to the side in his signature fashion. “Indeed, my dear Hermione. Sir Edmund has challenged me to a duel of the dead. A most archaic and barbaric practice, I assure you, but one I am honor-bound to accept.”

Harry frowned, crossing his arms. “Why? Why can’t you just refuse?”

Nick floated downward slightly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “To decline, dear boy, would be to admit cowardice, to brand myself a craven before all of Hogwarts’ ghostly inhabitants. I would lose the respect of my spectral peers—what little remains of it, anyway.”

Neville tilted his head in confusion. “But why did he challenge you in the first place?”

Nick straightened his posture slightly, though his head still wobbled precariously. “Sir Edmund claims I have dishonored the ghosts of Hogwarts by associating too closely with the living—by attending feasts, joining in celebrations, and, most recently, accepting your generous assistance in severing my lingering attachment to this mortal coil.”

“But we were just helping you,” Hermione said indignantly. “And isn’t it a good thing you can join the Headless Hunt now?”

Nick shook his head, his translucent face filled with sorrow. “For Sir Edmund, such an act is a betrayal of ghostly traditions. He sees my willingness to adapt and embrace change as weakness—a dereliction of my duty to the ghostly community.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “That’s ridiculous. He’s just jealous because you’ve got friends among the living.”

“Perhaps,” Nick admitted. “But Sir Edmund is also a formidable opponent. He was a knight in life, and his spirit carries the weight of centuries of battle experience. I… I cannot defeat him.”

“You don’t know that,” Neville said, though his voice lacked conviction. “There has to be a way to win.”

Nick gave a dry laugh, the sound echoing faintly. “You are kind, but I am no warrior. I’ve spent my afterlife attending feasts and reciting poetry, not preparing for ghostly duels.”

Harry, Hermione, and Neville exchanged determined glances.

“Then we’ll help you,” Harry said firmly. “We’ll find a way to beat him—or at least figure out how to make sure he can’t harm you.”

Nick’s eyes widened, his spectral form flickering. “You would do that? Even after all I’ve asked of you?”

Hermione placed a reassuring hand on the edge of the window ledge where Nick hovered. “Of course. You’re our friend, Sir Nicholas.”

Nick’s form seemed to brighten slightly. “You have my eternal gratitude. But be warned: Sir Edmund is no ordinary ghost.”

Over the next few days, the trio threw themselves into unraveling the mystery of Sir Edmund. They began by interviewing the other Hogwarts ghosts, hoping to glean any insight into the knight’s history and motivations.

Their first stop was the Hufflepuff common room, where the Fat Friar greeted them warmly. “Ah, Sir Edmund,” the Friar said, his jolly tone dimmed slightly. “A tragic figure, to be sure. He was a knight during Hogwarts’ early days, tasked with defending the castle during a great siege. He fought valiantly but fell in battle before the final victory.”

“Then why is he so angry now?” Neville asked.

The Friar’s expression grew somber. “Because, my dear boy, he was cursed. After his death, dark magic bound his soul to the grounds. He became a restless spirit, unable to pass on, filled with bitterness and resentment.”

“Do you know who cursed him?” Hermione pressed.

The Friar shook his head. “That knowledge has been lost to time. But I do know this: Sir Edmund views himself as the guardian of Hogwarts’ traditions. He sees change as a threat to the legacy he gave his life to protect.”

Their next stop was the library, where Hermione unearthed an old ledger buried in the Restricted Section. The leather-bound book, titled Guardians of the Veil, contained a passage about Sir Edmund.

“Listen to this,” Hermione said, her voice hushed with excitement. “‘Sir Edmund, loyal knight of Hogwarts, fell in the Siege of the Second Era. As a Guardian of the Veil, his soul is tethered to the castle, bound by ancient magic to uphold the sacred oaths of protection and order.’”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, leaning over the book.

“I think it means Sir Edmund wasn’t just a knight,” Hermione replied. “He was part of a magical order tasked with protecting Hogwarts. The ‘Guardian of the Veil’ title might explain why he feels so strongly about preserving traditions.”

“Or why he’s so angry at Nick,” Neville added. “He probably thinks Nick’s breaking those traditions.”

The Grey Lady provided the final piece of the puzzle. When the trio sought her out in the Ravenclaw Tower, she was reluctant to speak at first but eventually relented.

“Sir Edmund was a man of principles,” she said, her ethereal voice soft and distant. “But his principles blinded him to reason. He believed his way was the only way, and when others disagreed, he saw it as betrayal. Even in death, he cannot let go of his need for control.”

“Is there any way to stop him?” Harry asked.

The Grey Lady’s gaze grew piercing. “To defeat Sir Edmund, you must either outwit him or prove yourself stronger. But be warned: his honor is tied to his pride. Challenge that, and you may find him more dangerous than ever.”

Armed with this knowledge, the trio returned to Nick with a plan. They would train him, using everything they’d learned, while also devising a way to confront Sir Edmund’s sense of honor.

As they began their preparations, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that this duel was about more than Nick’s reputation. It was a battle for Hogwarts’ future—a clash between the ghosts of its past and the students who would shape its destiny.

The duel between Sir Edmund and Completely-Headless Nick began at midnight in the deserted Great Hall. The space had been transformed by the eerie glow of moonlight filtering through the high windows. The Hogwarts ghosts gathered silently, their translucent forms creating a surreal audience. Harry, Hermione, and Neville stood to the side, hearts pounding as they watched their friend prepare to face an ancient spirit fueled by centuries of anger.

Nick floated forward, his head trembling precariously on its nearly-severed neck. He held a ghostly rapier, his grip unsteady. Sir Edmund loomed before him, a fearsome presence even in death. His spectral armor gleamed faintly, and his sword pulsed with an ominous blue light.

“You dare stand against me, Nicholas?” Edmund bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall. “You, who has dishonored the traditions of the dead?”

Nick swallowed, his ethereal form flickering slightly. “I do not fight for myself,” he said, his voice shaky but resolute. “I fight for the right to live—or die—as I choose.”

The duel commenced with a thunderous clash of ghostly blades. Despite Nick’s determination and the training Harry and his friends had provided, it was clear he was outmatched. Sir Edmund’s strikes were precise and relentless, each blow driving Nick further back. Gasps rippled through the ghostly crowd as Nick faltered, barely deflecting a powerful swing.

“We have to do something,” Neville whispered urgently.

Harry nodded, his hand tightening around the Dagger of Severance, which he had summoned from Runestone Castle. The ancient blade shimmered with a faint, otherworldly glow. He turned to Hermione, who had spent days researching the dagger’s potential.

“Are you sure this will work?” Harry asked her.

Hermione nodded, though her expression betrayed her nerves. “The dagger doesn’t just sever ghosts—it can sever curses if wielded with the right intent. If we can convince Edmund to choose redemption, the dagger can release him from his bond to this world.”

Harry took a deep breath, gripping the dagger tightly. “Then let’s do this.”

As Sir Edmund raised his sword for another strike, Harry stepped into the circle, his voice firm. “Stop!”

The sudden interruption made Edmund pause, his sword frozen mid-swing. He turned his piercing gaze to Harry, his spectral eyes narrowing. “You dare to interfere, child?”

“I’m not here to fight you,” Harry said, holding up the dagger. “I’m here to offer you a choice.”

Sir Edmund’s eyes flickered to the blade, recognition flashing across his face. “The Dagger of Slytherin,” he hissed. “A weapon of ancient magic. Do you intend to use it against me, boy?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I intend to use it to help you. You don’t have to keep living this way, bound by anger and vengeance. You can let go.”

Edmund hesitated, his grip on his sword loosening slightly. “Let go? My duty is to guard this castle, to punish those who defile its legacy.”

Hermione stepped forward. “But that duty has consumed you. It’s turned you into something you weren’t meant to be?”

Neville, who had been silently observing, suddenly stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. “Sir Edmund, you were a knight—a protector of the innocent. Your life was about honor and duty, but is this truly what you want your legacy to be? Anger and destruction?”

The words seemed to strike a chord. Edmund lowered his sword slightly, his spectral form flickering.

Harry saw the hesitation and pressed on. “You don’t have to be trapped here. The Dagger of Slytherin can free you—not destroy you. It can break the curse that binds you to this place. But only if you choose to let go.”

The hall was silent, save for the faint hum of the dagger in Harry’s hand. Sir Edmund stared at the blade, his expression torn. Memories seemed to flash in his eyes—memories of his life, his purpose, and the choices that had led him here.

Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with emotion. “I... I do not wish to be a monster. I only wanted to protect what I loved.”

“You still can,” Harry said gently. “By letting go of the past, you can honor your legacy and find peace.”

Edmund closed his eyes, his sword vanishing from his grasp. “Do it, then. Free me.”

Harry stepped forward, the dagger trembling in his hand. He raised it and brought it down gently, the blade passing through Edmund’s chest with a soft, glowing light. The ancient magic surged through the room, and Edmund’s form began to dissolve, his edges softening.

As he faded, Edmund turned to Nick, a faint smile on his face. “You are braver than I gave you credit for, Nicholas. I name you a true knight of Hogwarts.”

Nick’s eyes widened, his translucent form shimmering with pride. “Thank you, Sir Edmund.”

With one final, peaceful sigh, Sir Edmund vanished, his spirit finally at rest.

The Great Hall was silent as the remaining ghosts processed what had just happened. Then, one by one, they began to cheer, their voices rising in a hauntingly beautiful chorus. Nick floated to Harry, his expression filled with gratitude.

“You’ve done more for me than I can ever repay,” Nick said. “Thank you, Harry.”