Chapter 103: The Skeleton Dance Troupe, and the Clean Walls

On Halloween, the entire castle seemed to drift with a sweet pumpkin scent.

Harry was immensely glad he could join others for the Halloween feast instead of staying in the cold, gloomy dungeon classroom with ghosts.

So at seven o’clock, he specifically asked Silven to join him for the dinner in the Great Hall.

When Harry came to knock on the door, Silven was holding Tom by the neck, warning him to behave himself today.

“Either go back to the Forbidden Forest or stay in the dorm—either way, don’t wander around the castle today.”

Tom looked unconvinced, wriggling wildly in Silven’s grip.

Silven was about to say more when Harry appeared at the dorm doorway.

“Silven, the Halloween feast is about to begin.”

“I’m coming,” Silven said, tossing Tom onto an empty bed nearby. “Remember: you can do whatever you want the rest of the time, but tonight, you’re staying put.”

Then Silven put on his school robe and stepped out of the dorm wearing his pointed hat, and with a flick of his wand, tapped the door lock.

With a click, Silven nodded in satisfaction.

“You don’t really need to lock the door, do you?” Harry asked, puzzled. “Everyone’s going to the feast—no one will be left in the common room.”

“I’m locking it to keep Tom from getting out,” Silven said. “He can open locks from the inside.”

Harry suddenly remembered: Silven had a pet cat named Tom, though he’d hardly ever seen it.

The last time he’d seen that cat was on the first day of term last year, when Hagrid was ferrying new students across the lake—it had been quietly perched on Silven’s shoulder.

“A pet cat shouldn’t be a problem,” Harry asked. “I’ve seen plenty of pets in the halls—professors allow them to roam freely in the castle.”

“If Tom gets out, you might not see any of those pets afterward,” Silven said casually.

Perhaps because the name carried too much menace, though Silven had insisted Tom stop eating “colleagues,” his temper remained volatile, and his territorial instincts had grown stronger.

Mrs. Norris had developed a psychological fear of him—she now instinctively avoided Silven whenever she saw him.

Even when owls flew over Tom’s head, he’d nearly leap up to slap them.

This was one reason Silven wanted to keep him locked in the dorm.

But Silven hadn’t expected that the moment he and Harry left the common room, Tom used his front paws to pry open the window and leapt onto the outer ledge.

The edge of the eighth-floor wall was only a few inches wide, but Tom walked across it as easily as if it were flat ground. Soon he found his target, pushed off with his hind legs, and slipped nimbly through an open window.

By then, Silven had already entered the Great Hall, staring in surprise as Hagrid placed a pumpkin larger than himself beside the teachers’ table.

“Tonight’s program is excellent—I hope you all enjoy it.”

Hagrid then left.

Usually, he rarely came to the Great Hall for meals, having turned down several invitations from Dumbledore.

When the Halloween feast officially began, all the giant pumpkins lit up and, under Dumbledore’s command, floated slowly upward.

Thousands of bats had already been waiting in midair. As the jack-o’-lanterns rose, they instantly clustered together, forming a massive black cloud that surged toward a stage set up at the front.

The students in the front rows screamed in fright. The cloud exploded into countless streams of colored smoke, and twelve skeletons shimmering with pearlescent light materialized right in the midst of it.

“Look—it’s the Skeleton Dance Troupe!” A chorus of delighted shrieks erupted from the crowd.

Silven looked over as well.

Twelve skeletons stood in an oval beneath the enchanted ceiling.

Moonlight fell on a skeleton holding a bony violin, its tibia serving as the bowstring as it drew the first note.

Then violas, cellos, harps, flutes, and other instruments joined in.

Six skeletons moved to the center of the oval and began to dance.

A waltz. Without a trace of flesh, their bodies moved with extraordinary flexibility, each motion precise, eerie yet elegant.

Silven could hardly believe it—he saw elegance in a group of skeletons. And clearly, he wasn’t the only one.

Hermione sat frozen, eyes locked on the stage. Harry was pouring pumpkin cider but, so absorbed in watching, didn’t notice his cup had long since overflowed—most of the drink spilled onto the table.

At the front, Dumbledore was tapping time with his hand for them.

After the first piece, the Skeleton Dance Troupe played another, livelier dance tune, raising the atmosphere in the Great Hall to its peak.

“This is amazing!” Harry shouted, taking a big bite of pumpkin pie.

Last year, the Halloween feast had ended abruptly because of Quirrell. Fortunately, he’d come this year—if he’d missed such a spectacular performance, he’d regret it forever.

Silven nodded as well. The Skeleton Dance Troupe was truly as famed as rumored.

It was said that every Halloween, they received hundreds of invitations from across the magical world—only Dumbledore could possibly have invited them to perform at Hogwarts at this time.

Silven clapped and cheered along with everyone else.

Ignoring other factors, this Halloween was indeed pleasant, and the pumpkin pie was delicious.

But feasts always end.

As the Skeleton Dance Troupe departed and the last slice of pumpkin pudding vanished, the plates shone anew, spotless.

Students, reluctant to leave, rose and slowly filed out of the Great Hall.

Silven followed the crowd out of the hall and up the stairs.

Then Hermione suddenly called out to him in surprise: “Silven, aren’t you going to the Ghosts’ Deathday Party?”

“I need to go back to the dorm for something,” Silven said. Neither Hermione nor Harry questioned it.

Hermione and Harry discussed whether they should go too—she thought since they had nothing else to do, it might be worth seeing.

And perhaps because they’d just seen the Skeleton Dance Troupe at the feast, even Ron was less repelled by the idea of the ghostly party.

But Silven didn’t care what they were thinking. As he followed the crowd to the second floor, his mood grew increasingly tense.

The staircase to the third floor turned the other way, forcing them to go to the opposite corridor. As the crowd jostled into the passage, Silven immediately looked up.

Then he let out a laugh.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, confused.

“Nothing,” Silven said with a smile, clearly in good spirits.

He was indeed in good spirits—because the walls on both sides of the corridor were spotless, no red writing, nothing at all.

Later, on the fifth floor, Silven encountered Filch on patrol. Mrs. Norris still ran away the moment she saw him, but Silven still caught sight of a tail.

Now his mood improved even further.

As they continued forward, they met a weeping ghost who flew past, covering her face.

Peeves chased after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts and cackling gleefully.

“That’s Moaning Myrtle, a ghost from the second-floor girls’ bathroom,” Hermione said. “She and Peeves are the two ghosts I least want to meet.”

Fortunately, both ghosts arrived quickly and vanished just as fast.

The group reached the middle of the corridor.

“Oh no, this staircase goes down—we need to find another…” Harry hadn’t finished speaking when he saw Silven walking up.

“Silven, you’re going the wrong way—this staircase leads to the first floor.”

“That’s right. I’m going to the dungeon classroom—I have to go to the first floor first.”

“Aren’t you going back to the dorm for something?”

“I just realized it’s already in my pocket,” Silven said, pulling out a scrap of parchment. “Are you coming?”

The three exchanged glances and hurried up the stairs.

“Do ghosts like to dance?” Ron asked, instantly picturing the waltz performed by the Skeleton Dance Troupe.

It had been the most brilliant performance he’d ever seen.

“Probably,” Hermione said uncertainly. “Nick likes to be called Sir Nicholas—so he was a nobleman in life. Nobles probably danced at parties.”

“I think so too.”

The group chatted eagerly as they descended from the first floor to the entrance of the staircase leading to the dungeon classroom.

But when they arrived there, they all fell silent.

A foul stench hung thick in the air, and the sound of a thousand saws grinding against each other seeped from deep within the dungeon classroom.

In that moment, their romantic visions of the ghostly party began to collapse rapidly.

What was this? The Skeleton Dance Troupe’s music had been so beautiful—how could the ghosts’… no, this wasn’t music at all—it was noise, pure, unadulterated noise!

(End of Chapter)