THE DEATHDAY PARTY
Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the corridor,
and back upstairs. To escape from Filch’s office without punish-
ment was probably some kind of school record.
“Harry! Harry! Did it work?”
Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind
him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabi-
net that appeared to have been dropped from a great height.
“I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch’s office,” said
Nick eagerly. “Thought it might distract him —”
“Was that you?” said Harry gratefully. “Yeah, it worked, I didn’t
even get detention. Thanks, Nick!”
They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick,
Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick’s rejection letter.
“I wish there was something I could do for you about the Head-
less Hunt,” Harry said.
Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked
right through him. He wished he hadn’t; it was like stepping through
an icy shower.
“But there is something you could do for me,” said Nick ex-
citedly. “Harry — would I be asking too much — but no, you
wouldn’t want —”
“What is it?” said Harry.
“Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday,” said
Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
“Oh,” said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or
happy about this. “Right.”
“I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons.
Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such
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