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"She's bloody brilliant, I tell you!" Ron uttered in astonishment as we ambled toward the Gryffindor Common Room.

When Lucy walked out the Hall, Malfoy and his fellow Slytherins immediately tried to undo the hexes that Lucy cast on him. After several attempts, they suprisingly made it, with the help of Professor Snape, of course.

The students in each houses guffawed at Malfoy's scared and terrified face, even the Professors chuckled in amusement. So basically, all Slytherins are afraid of Kitty - I mean Lucy.

Hahahahaha! Take that you, filthy, disgusting, cowards, evil, stupid, selfish, bullies, rude, ugly, boastful, lazy, asshole, lame, traitor, horrible Slytherins!

Hermione giggled. "We know that, Ronald, but have the two of you noticed something?"

Ron shook his head slowly, unsure, whilst I nodded and said, "No offense to her, but she's being a bit moody and she's always zoning out and staring nowhere. I'm worried about her."

Ron smirked and nudge me playfully with his shoulder. "Of course you are, Loverboy. Harry and Lucy, sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"First, comes love." Hermione sang, grinning like an idiot. I swear, my face is so red from blushing.

"Then comes marriage."

"Then comes baby Hacy (A/N: Hacy = Harry and Lucy) in the baby carriage,"

"Sucking her thumb."

"Wetting her pants."

"Doing the hula, hula dance!" They chorused, swaying their hips, then erupted into giggles.

I rolled my eyes, a smile playing on my lips. "Stop it, both of you or else someone will hear!"

"Touché." They teased while going inside the common room. Thank Merlin, Lucy's here, sitting on the armchair, scribbling on her small, black notebook.

She looked up, not yet noticing the three of us, and gorgeously blew a strand of her hair from her dazzling blue-green eyes, looking frustrated.

I sighed lovingly, she really looks like an angel. She sings like an angel. She has a heart like an angel. Aargghh! What's happening to me?! I'm not attracted to Lucy. Am I?

Ron suddenly pat my back, snapping me out of my crazy thoughts. "Don't be defensive, Mate. Everybody reckons you two will be a wonderful couple."

My eyes bulged out a bit. Geez... Did I say that out loud?

"Yes, and be thankful that Lucy didn't here that or else you're in a deep trouble of explaining what you just said." Hermione said amusedly, then shove me at the direction of Lucy.

"Hey!" I hissed in annoyance.

"Talk to her!" They whispered, jerking their heads at Kitty. If you are confused why I'm calling her Kitty, well, it's because she's fierce and cute. Like a cat and/or a kitten.

I nodded and anxiously sat beside the most beautiful girl I've ever met.

"Umm... Lucy?" No reply. She kept on scrawling furiously on her notebook like she heard nothing.

"Lucy?" I clasped my hand on her shoulder, ignoring the electric rush through my skin as I touched her. She yelped and accidentally threw her quill.

"Son of a Banshee, Harry!" She gasped and breathing heavily, her delicate and smooth hand on her chest as she exhaled.

I smiled guiltily. "Sorry, but I'm just trying to get your attention. You seem so fixed on that

notebook. May I see it?" I reached out for it but she quickly snatched it and placed it in her pocket. Odd.

"Er- It- it's nothing. Just a -a plain book. Nothing so tremendous." She stuttered, looking around, purposely avoiding my eyes. She glanced at Ron and Hermione, "Oh, why are you here?"

"Well, it's getting late." Ron shrugged, narrowing his eyes at Lucy. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"Apparently, waiting for you three." She replied. "So, what happened to Malfoy? Loving his horns, eh? What about his giant tooth? Oh, his cornflakes skin!"

We chuckled at her sudden change of mood. "Unfortunately, his stupid Slytherin 'friends' removed it. Malfoy almost wet his pants as well as his house mates, they're so frightened of you!"

She sniggered. "They better be."

Ouf the blue, Hermione squeaked and grabbed Ron's arm. "Well, umm- it's late. We have classes tomorrow so... Good night!"

Before they went into their dorms, they shot me a knowing smirk and a wink. I stuck out my tongue at them, pretty childish, isn't it?

I cleared my throat. "Hi, Lucy."

She looked at me perplexed, perhaps wondering why I'm being formal. "Why so proper, huh?"

I shrugged. "Nothing. I just don't want to humiliate myself in front of the beautiful girl here beside me." Wow. So brave.

She giggled while shooking her head. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mister."

"I'm not flirting." I defended, pouting a bit.

"Ok, whatever tickles your pickle, Harry." She spoke, standing up and stretching her arms.

"It's past curfew, we better get to our dorm, don't you think? Good night!" She bent down and kiss me on the side of my lips.

When she closed the door of her dorm, I stood up and did a happy dance, fist-pumping the air.

"Yes! She kissed me! Yes! Yes! Whoo!"

"Hey! Shut up!" A groggy voice snapped upstairs, I think I'm too loud. But I don't care, Lucy's lips are so soft, it felt amazing!

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"A Deathday Party?" Lucy asked keenly when I had changed my muddy quidditch robes at last and joined her, Ron and Hermione in the Common Room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those - it'll be fascinating!"

As I strode back, through the castle corridors, with my clothes dripping wet and mud all over, just after our Quidditch Practice, I encountered Nearly- Headless Nick, the not-quite beheaded Gryffindor ghost.

I noticed that Nick looked a bit gloomy and out of curiosity, I asked why, only to hear him explain that he has just been rejected from the Headless Hunt on account of his head being unable to come all the way off.

The conversation ended in a flash, as we are spied by Mrs. Norris, Filch the caretaker's cat, and Nick warned me to hurry off, so as not to get in trouble for tracking in mud.

Too late as Filch spied me and dragged me into his office, began to wroteup a punishment complaint, but was thankfully interrupted by a large crash and he rushed out.

While he is gone I peered curiously into an open envelope on the desk and found a mail-order course called "Kwikspell" for wizards who are not fully magical.

It's oddly familiar, oh yes! I saw it before, at Professor Snape's office when he attempted to punish us three, but stopped by none other than Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Filch dropped it off, but I returned it, of course.

Talk about gentleman...

I automatically settled it on where it is before, as I heard the door opened and Filch

returned, gleefully telling his cat that Peeves the Obnoxius Poltergeist will certainly be expelled for damaging a valuable cabinet.

I mentally rolled my eyes, like that will ever happened. I'd rather be with Peeves than to be with him, even if they're both aggravating.

Filch suddenly stopped mid-sentence when he noticed that the Kwikspell envelope is so

close to my elbow, and he asked hysterically whether I read it. I obviously lied that I hadn't,

I don't want to spend my entire life here in this smelly room, but Filch seemed quite alarmed and let me go. Just like that. Not that I'm complaining.

Outside, Nick explained to me that he had told Peeves to cause a distraction, and I was quite grateful and asked if there is anything I could do to help with the rejection from the Headless Hunt.

Nick replied joyfully that I, together with my Best Friends, could attend his 500th Deathday

party, taking place on Halloween, and during it mention to the other headless ghosts how terribly impressive and frightening we all students find Nick. I perceptibly agreed to come, who knows this can be fun?

Wow, that rhymes!

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me. . . ."

~~**~~

By the time Halloween arrived, I was awfully regretting my rash promise to go to the deathday party.

The rest of the school was happily anticipating our Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded me bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."

Ron and I groaned simultaneously in defeat, now I won't get the chance to taste the delicious Treacle Tart! I cast Lucy a sideway glance to see her staring off into space again.

"Lucy?" I started, waving a hand in front of her pale face. "We don't mind if you won't attend with us at the Deathday Party, Lucy. You need to rest, you're deadly pale."

She stared at me for a moment, then smiled weakly. "I wanna go. I can assure you that I'm perfectly fine."

So at seven o'clock, Ron, Hermione, Lucy and I walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed our steps instead toward the dungeons.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over our own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step we took.

I saw Lucy shivered out of the corner of my eye and drew her robes tightly around her, so I absentmindedly put my arm around her, hopefully warming her up.

She turned and gave me her precious smile, Hermione and Ron 'aaawwwwing' at the backround.

All of a sudden, we heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered as we turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased you could come. . . ." He swept off his plumed hat and bowed us inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent (you can look through them) people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform.

A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Our breath rose in a mist before us; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"Shall we have a look around?" I suggested, wanting to warm up my feet.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and we set off around the edge of the dance floor.

We passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead.

I wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -"

"Who?" I asked as we backtracked quickly.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione.

"She haunts a toilet?"

"Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums (act like a madman) and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you -"

"Look, food!" Ron exclaimed happily. On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. We approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in our tracks, horrified.

The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington died 31st October, 1492.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

"Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron, staring at the 'foods' disgustedly.

We had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before us.

"Hello, Peeves," I greeted cautiously.

Unlike the ghosts around us, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and

transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

"Nibbles?" He said sweetly, offering us a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No thanks," Hermione declined.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione hissed frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle."

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face I had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

"What?" She said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet." Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.

"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.

"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No - honestly - didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, elbowing Ron and I painfully in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah -"

"She did -"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled amusedly over her shoulder. "D' you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"Don't forget pimply." Peeves hissed in her ear.

"And Donkey." Lucy spoke, startling us. We nearly forgot she's here with us since she didn't utter a single word until now.

Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply! Donkey!"

"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly. "And Lucy, you shouldn't have said that. That's rude."

She just shrugged like nothing happened. "Said the one who backstabbed Myrtle." Now, that caught me off guard.

"I didn't mean to. It was an accident, okay?" Hermione retorted, an annoyed expression on her face.

Nearly Headless Nick drifted toward us through the crowd, cutting off Hermione and Lucy from having an argument.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," We lied, except Lucy who replied, "Yeah, we're absolutely enjoying this dumb party, with a bunch of rotten foods and a-" She was cut off by Hermione clasping her hand on her mouth, preventing her from talking.

"Oh, don't mind Lucy. She's just a sarcastic person." Said Hermione shooting her a glare.

"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent. It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . . ."

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. We, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," said Nick bitterly. Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; I started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.

The ghost leapt down on his horse, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" He roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?" He gave a hearty laugh and clapped Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.

"Live ones!" said Sir Patrick, spotting us four and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).

"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow -"

"I think," I butted in hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very - frightening and - er -"

"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!" Busted!

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.

"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow . . ."

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch.

I was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor. "Let's go," I agreed, but noticed someone was missing.

"Wait a minute. Where's Lucy?" I asked, looking around. They just shrugged.

"Might be at the Hall." Hermione guessed.

I nodded and we backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at us, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

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Chapter 9! Sorry, it was a bit late because of some technical problems...

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