Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 185 Nick's Story

In the corridor.

Harry and Ron discussed Quidditch tactics in hushed tones, not even looking at the road ahead, letting Loren lead them forward.

"How about the Pokov decoy? It's a classic tactic to eliminate the speed difference." Ron mimicked a chaser with his hand, pretending to throw a Quake to score, but actually preparing to pass the ball to his teammate at a precise angle for a coordinated pass to break through.

"No, the speed difference is too big. They can switch on defense in time." Harry became more and more disappointed as they discussed it. It seemed that all his hope lay in whether he could catch the Golden Snitch in time to end the game before the Slytherin team widened the gap to 150 points.

Loren knew nothing about Quidditch or flying brooms, so he leisurely led the two of them, preventing them from falling out of a window or down the stairs without looking. If that happened, it would be headline news in tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

"Speed, speed, speed..." Ron muttered with a frown, his mind unconsciously simulating the players on both sides, one side being faster and the other having better teamwork.

How can we use coordination to eliminate the speed advantage?

As he calmed down and thought things through, the flying brooms and players gradually transformed into black and white chess pieces, landing on the chessboard and turning into an endgame.

Black represents Slytherin. The board is full of living stones, so the game is fast and has a significant advantage. Victory can be achieved by making orderly moves using the living stones.

The white pieces represent Gryffindor, and they have very little liberty, struggling to maneuver in the narrow spaces.

But it seemed there was still hope. Ron's eyes grew brighter, Quidditch transformed into a form he was more familiar with, and his mind was liberated in a moment, as if sublimated.

He broke through, intercepted, blocked, and defended; he split plays, switched positions, blocked ko fights, and broke through. The falling pieces transformed into fourteen flying broomsticks, swirling through the air. Following his plan, he executed Quidditch tactics such as passing back, counter-attacking runs, the Parkinson's pincer movement, and the Eagles formation.

In that case, it seems...

Lost in thought, Ron turned and walked toward the prize display room on the fourth floor, not even remembering to say goodbye to Harry and Loren.

Harry watched his departing figure with a puzzled expression. Had his friend gone mad from thinking about Quidditch?

Loren and the other continued walking toward Lockhart's office. As they turned a corner, they saw Nick, who was almost headless, looking melancholically at the rain in the night.

He wore a very fashionable hat with feathers on his long curly hair, and a knee-length belted coat with wheel-shaped ruffles that concealed the fact that his neck had been almost completely severed. He was as faint as a wisp of smoke.

He held a letter in his hand, looking like a melancholy poet, muttering, "It doesn't meet their requirements, just half an inch off, if only..."

"Good evening, Sir Nicholas." Loren approached, and through Nick's ghostly body, one could see the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

"No, young Morgan and Porter, I'm not doing well." Nick turned to look at them, a deep pain on his face.

Nick is a cheerful and kind ghost who is always happy to guide lost little wizards, cover for little wizards who wander at night, and even throw his own head to make the little wizards happy.

Seeing such a worried expression on Nick's face, Loren and Harry were somewhat concerned.

Could it be the basilisk causing trouble? Loren looked around but saw no victims. He asked, "What happened?"

"No, it's nothing. It's a small matter... I thought I could apply, but it looks like I 'don't qualify.'" Nick tried to rub his face to hide his distressed expression, but the moment he touched him, his head wobbled precariously.

Nick broke down, his emotions gushing out like a flood. He angrily waved the letter around his neck: "Tell me! Does someone who's been chopped forty-four times on the neck with a blunt axe deserve to join the Headless Hunters?"

Loren and Harry took two steps back and tentatively said, somewhat uncertainly, "Oh—of course."

Nick floated in front of the two and unfolded the letter in front of them.

The ghost's letter paper was made of some unknown material, somewhat transparent, and emitted a faint light. It read:

We only accept hunters whose heads and bodies are separate. You will fully realize that without this, it would be impossible for a member to participate in hunter team activities such as horseback juggling and polo on their head. Therefore, I regret to inform you that you do not meet our requirements. Best regards, Sir Patrick Delaney Podmore.

"More than anyone, I wanted things to be done cleanly and efficiently, I wanted my head to be completely and utterly severed—I mean, that would save me from a lot of pain and from being ridiculed. But..."

Tears streamed down Nick's ghostly face. His anger subsided, replaced by helplessness and bewilderment. "Only a little skin and tendon are still holding me to my neck, Loren! Harry! Most people would think that's practically the same as losing your head. But no, to Sir Podmore, who's completely decapitated, that's not enough."

The ghost uncle, who was originally full of joy and always hid in his armor, scaring them with his loud voice, was like a fragile child, and Loren and Harry felt heartbroken watching him.

Seeing the two people who seemed lost yet concerned for him, Nick composed himself and said, "Would you like to hear my story?"

"Of course!" Loren was the first to climb onto the window, sit down facing the night and rain, and stick his legs out of the window, swinging them around as if he wanted to hear a story.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to remind Loren that Lockhart was still waiting for them in his office. But seeing Nicholas's expectant gaze, he said nothing and sat down by the window, just like Loren.

Nick drifted out of the castle, letting the raindrops pierce his body: "I was born into the noble Minsey-Poppington family, and noble blood flows in my veins from birth..."

He enjoyed a peaceful and happy childhood, inheriting the honor of the Porpington family and taking pride in his ancestors. At the age of eleven, he entered Hogwarts and was sorted into Gryffindor House.

"Hey! Don't let Professor McGonagall know that my Transfiguration was terrible back in my student days."

Nick recalled that memory with a smile, but then his face quickly fell: "You may not know, but back then Hogwarts wasn't as famous as it is now. I was indulging in the glory of my family and presumptuously wanted to make it even more famous. Many friends advised me not to associate with Muggles, but I was greedy for fame and didn't listen to their heartfelt advice."

In the wizarding world, he was merely a wizard with mediocre achievements, unable to bring back the glory of his ancestors. So Nico turned his attention to the Muggle world. Many friends and family members advised him against it, but he still entered the court and became a courtier of King Henry VII.

Nick said with a self-deprecating laugh, "I will always remember the night of October 30, 1492..."

While strolling in the park, he encountered Ms. Griff, who insisted that Nick use magic to correct her crooked teeth. Nick knew he couldn't do such a thing and tried to refuse several times but couldn't shake her off, so he had no choice but to try. However, Nick's attempt backfired, causing her to grow terrifying fangs.

Nick tried to calm Ms. Griffith down, saying that a touch of his wand on the fangs would turn them back to normal. But Ms. Griffith's screams drowned out everything, and the knight in his cold, hard armor snatched his wand and imprisoned him without a second thought.

That night, a pastor came to Nick's cell to comfort him, but the next morning at dawn, he escorted him to the execution ground with a cold face.

"I will always remember the pastor telling me, 'You will never need a leather cap again,' and the executioner telling me, 'It might hurt a little'..."

When the executioner made him kneel before the stone, Nick was so terrified he could barely speak. To make matters worse, the executioner's axe was dull because the sharpening stone was nowhere to be found. As a result, Nick was chopped forty-four times in total, yet even so, a tiny bit of skin and tendon still connected his neck.

"This, but—" Harry was so shocked he could barely speak, he simply couldn't accept it.

It's hard to imagine that a titled wizard courtier was executed so hastily, without a proper trial or execution. Even a butcher in the countryside doesn't kill his own cattle and sheep so casually.

Loren could probably guess that, in King Henry VII's eyes, wizards were perhaps even less important than livestock. Executing wizards would also demonstrate the king's power.

In short, the world lost Sir Nicholas of Minsey and gained Nick who was almost headless.

"I'm afraid of death, so I chose to stay behind. Sometimes I wonder if I should..." Nick shook his head and didn't finish his sentence.

Loren and Harry couldn't guess what he regretted. Perhaps it was regretting ignoring his friends' advice to become the king's courtier; perhaps it was regretting not firmly rejecting Ms. Griffith; perhaps it was regretting not embracing death and bravely moving forward.

"I didn't accomplish anything while I was alive, and now that I'm dead and a ghost, I can't even join the Headless Hunters." Nico chuckled self-deprecatingly, and after recounting his story, his emotions calmed down considerably.

Harry was still engrossed in the story and hadn't recovered yet.

Loren comforted him, "Cheer up, Sir Nicholas! The Headless Hunters can't play with all the young wizards at Hogwarts."

Nick smiled at him without saying a word; you can interpret the meaning behind that smile.

Haha, who cares about you little wizards? Joining the Headless Hunters is nothing compared to the prestige of being a little wizard.

Hey! This ghostly old man. Loren wanted to complain, but then thought better of it; it was a concept he carried over from his past life—respect for the dead. This man had been dead for hundreds of years, incredibly long.

Nick glanced at him suspiciously, feeling that the young wizard's gaze was rather impolite.

Loren pursed his lips, remaining obedient and docile.

"Never mind," Nick said, bringing up something else: "This year's Halloween Eve marks my 500th birthday."

Loren was about to offer his congratulations: "Oh! Congratulations!"

He stopped halfway through his sentence to offer congratulations on the anniversary of the death. It felt strange, like something was off.

Nick continued somewhat nervously, "I'm hosting a party in a fairly spacious basement classroom. Friends will be coming from all over the country, and I would be honored if you could join us. Of course, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and your other friends are also welcome."

He glanced at Loren and Harry's expressions, a hint of anxiety in them. "But I dare say you'd rather attend the ghosts' feast, wouldn't you?"

How could Loren and Harry refuse such a humble invitation from a ghost hundreds of years old? Besides, Nick had helped them buy them time the night they sent Norbert away, and they still owed Nick a favor.

They nodded in agreement.

"Oh, my dear children, Harry Potter and his friends are coming to my anniversary party, how wonderful!" Nick's ghostly form circled excitedly in the air. Suddenly, he stopped in front of the two people, startling them so much that they almost fell off the windowsill.

Nicole looked at them expectantly: "Excuse me, could you please mention to Mr. Patrick that you find me particularly frightening and memorable?"

"no problem."

"sure."

Harry and Loren settled themselves in, forced smiles, and watched Nick fly away, waving his arms and legs in delight.

Harry climbed out the window and back into the hallway: "No need to pretend, Nick can be really scary sometimes. Remember to call Seamus and Neville; they think Nick is genuinely frightening."

"How can anyone celebrate the day they die? Is this considered a happy funeral?" Loren and Harry hurried along, continuing their journey to Lockhart's office.

"We're probably half an hour late. I hope Professor Lockhart won't extend my detention..."

As soon as they opened the door, they saw dozens of portraits and photographs of Lockhart, large and small, staring intently at them in the office. Especially the real Lockhart sitting in the center, his lower half of his face maintained a stiff smile, but his eyes appeared cold and hard.

Faced with the eerie smile and gaze, Harry took a step back in fright.

Before Lockhart could ask why he was late, Loren walked into the office with a nonchalant air, saying as if seeking credit, "Professor Lockhart, we've learned that a world-class ghost gathering is going to be held at Hogwarts. I think perhaps you could write this into a book, or even uncover the ghosts' past lives, making Hogwarts even more famous. We spent some time gathering information, so we're late."

Bloody hell! What is that?!

Harry's eyes widened, his pupils trembling violently.

Is this Loren?

It's the same thing, but saying it in a different way makes it completely different.

Visibly, the coldness in Lockhart's eyes melted away, and his smile returned to its warm tone: "Oh! Is that so? I've been waiting for you for a long time, and I thought you were in trouble. I was worried!"

Yes!

A ghost! A ghost!

How could he not have thought of that? He'd already written about banshees, ghouls, she-demons, trolls, werewolves, and vampires; there weren't many magical creatures left for him. He was worried about what to write about in the future.

Ghosts can serve as both source material and a readership; a book on the subject of ghosts could further boost his fame.

Lockhart suppressed his excitement and asked casually, "When is this ghost gathering...?"

(End of this chapter)