The Great Hall was a masterpiece of magical celebration. Above the four long house tables, thousands of live bats fluttered like jagged pieces of velvet, weaving between the floating pumpkin lanterns. The enchanted ceiling reflected a stormy autumn sky, but the atmosphere below was anything but cold. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, cinnamon, and the sugary musk of oversized candies.
At the staff table, Sebastian sat next to a beaming Professor Flitwick, who was enthusiastically describing a new charm he'd developed to make the pumpkins sing in harmony. Sebastian nodded politely, but his eyes were scanning the Gryffindor table. He noted three distinct absences: Harry, Ron, and Hermione. And, looking over at the Slytherin table, he noticed Draco Malfoy was missing as well.
The plot thickens, Sebastian thought, taking a slow sip of pumpkin juice. He knew exactly where they were. Nearly Headless Nick's five-hundredth Deathday Party was a social obligation Harry had been too polite to refuse, and Malfoy's curiosity was a magnetic force that usually dragged him into the path of trouble.
Meanwhile, in the cold, damp corridors leading away from the dungeons, the atmosphere was significantly less festive.
"I am officially an idiot," Draco Malfoy grumbled. He was wearing a magnificent, custom-fitted suit of silver-plated armor that clanked with every step, making him sound like a falling cutlery drawer. "I could be eating pheasant. I could be having that five-layer chocolate cake with the crawling spiders. Instead, I'm wandering around in the dark with a bunch of ghosts who think moldy bread is a delicacy."
"Oh, shut up, Malfoy," Ron snapped, his stomach letting out a roar that echoed off the stone walls. "We didn't force you to come. You saw us leaving the Great Hall and decided to play spy. This is your own fault."
"I was protecting the school's interests!" Draco hissed, though the effect was ruined by the metallic squeak of his elbow joint. "You three always look like you're about to accidentally summon a demon or blow up a wing of the castle. I thought I should be there to witness the disaster."
"Well, you witnessed it," Hermione said, her voice tight. She was still trying to scrub the phantom smell of the Deathday Party from her nose. "A room full of transparent people celebrating the day they died by eating food that's been rotting since the Tudor era. Truly, the height of excitement."
Hermione shivered. As a girl who valued hygiene and logic, the ghost party had been a traumatic experience. Seeing a ghost walk through a table of maggot-infested haggis just to "get the flavor" was an image that would be burned into her brain for years.
"It was unique," Harry said quietly. He was the only one who wasn't bickering. He felt drained, the icy presence of hundreds of ghosts having sucked the warmth right out of his bones. "But yeah... I'm starving. If we hurry, we might catch the tail end of the desserts."
"Desserts?" Malfoy scoffed. "Potter, at the rate this armor moves, the only thing left will be the crumbs and the empty plates. If I don't get some sugar in my system soon, I'm going to pass out, and you'll have to drag sixty pounds of silver back to the common room."
Harry didn't respond. He had stopped dead in his tracks.
"Harry?" Ron asked, pausing. "What is it? Did you forget your scarf in the dungeon? Because I'm not going back. I'd rather eat my own shoes than smell that cheese again."
"Shh!" Harry held up a hand.
The corridor fell silent, save for the distant, muffled sound of the feast in the Great Hall. But then, Harry heard it—a voice that didn't sound like it came from a human throat. It was cold, sibilant, and drenched in a terrifying hunger.
"...rip... tear... kill..."
Harry's skin crawled. It was the same voice he'd heard in Lockhart's office, but it was louder now. Sharper.
"...so hungry... for so long..."
"Did you hear that?" Harry whispered, his eyes darting toward the ceiling. "It's back. That voice."
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look of deep concern. "Harry, we don't hear anything," Hermione said softly.
"I'm serious!" Harry insisted, his voice rising in panic. "It's moving. It's right above us. It sounds... it sounds like it's hunting."
Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes, the visor of his helmet clinking. "Is this part of the Halloween entertainment, Potter? Trying to scare the Slytherin with imaginary voices? Because if it is, it's pathetic. I'm too hungry to be frightened by your amateur dramatics."
"...kill... time to kill..."
"It's going to hurt someone," Harry breathed. He didn't wait for a reply. He bolted.
"Harry! Wait!" Hermione cried out, hiking up her robes and chasing after him. Ron was right behind her, his hunger forgotten in the face of Harry's genuine terror.
Draco stood alone for a second in the dark corridor. "Potter! Come back here! You can't just leave me in a suit of armor!" He let out a frustrated growl and started to trot after them, his metal boots striking the floor with a rhythmic clack-clack-clack.
"Potter, if this is a prank, I'm telling Professor Swann!" Draco shouted as he struggled to keep up. "And Weasley, slow down! You're the one who's supposed to be the coward! Go find a teacher!"
Harry was ignoring him, his ears locked onto the sound. The voice was moving through the walls, sliding through the very skeleton of the castle. He tore up a flight of stairs, his heart hammering against his ribs. He burst onto the second-floor corridor, and then he stopped.