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Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrids pumpkins swelled to Pubg game strategy hub size of garden sheds. Oliver Woods enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud. Even aside from the rain and wind it hadnt been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles. As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath. dont fulfill their requirements. half an inch, if that. Hello, Nick, said Harry. Hello, hello, said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside. You look troubled, young Potter, said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet. So do you, said Harry. Ah, Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, a matter of no importance. Its not as though I really wanted to join. Thought Id apply, but apparently I dont fulfill requirements - In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. But you would think, wouldnt you, he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt. Oh - yes, said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree. I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However - Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously: We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback HeadJuggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore. Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away. Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry. Most people would think thats good and beheaded, but oh, no, its not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore. Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, So - whats bothering you. Anything I can do. No, said Harry. Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly - The rest of Harrys sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students. Youd better get out of here, Harry, said Nick quickly. Filch isnt in a good mood - hes got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. Hes been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place - Right, said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harrys right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rulebreaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple. Filth. he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harrys Quidditch robes. Mess and muck everywhere. Ive had enough of it, I tell you. Follow me, Potter. So Read article waved a gloomy Pubg game strategy hub to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. Harry had never been inside Filchs office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filchs desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling. Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for apex architectural metals. Dung, he muttered furiously, great sizzling dragon bogies. frog brains. rat intestines. Ive had enough of it. make an example. wheres the form. yes. He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot. Name. Harry Potter. Crime. It was only a bit of mud. said Harry. Its only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me its an extra hour scrubbing. shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. Crime. befouling the castle. suggested sentence. Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry, who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall. But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG. on the ceiling of the office, Pubg game strategy hub made the oil lamp rattle. PEEVES. Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. Ill have you this time, Ill have you. And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him. Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didnt much like Peeves, but couldnt help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though hed wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harry. Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasnt on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read: KWIKSPELL _____________________________________ A Correspondence Course in Beginners Magic Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said: Feel out of step in the world of modern magic. Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells. Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork. There is an answer. Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method. Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke. Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution. Warlock D. Prod of Didsbury says: My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak. Thank you, Kwikspell. Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelopes contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course. Did this mean he wasnt a proper wizard. Harry was just reading Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips) when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened. Filch was looking triumphant. That Vanishing Cabinet was extremely valuable. he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. Well have Peeves out this time, my sweet - His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, Harry realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started. Filchs pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer. Have you - did you read -. he sputtered. No, Harry lied quickly. Filchs knobbly hands were twisting together. If I thought youd read https://freestrategygames.cloud/rust-game/rust-game-mod-minecraft-bedrock-quality.php private - not that its mine - for a friend - be that as it may - however - Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didnt help. Very well - go - and dont breathe a word - not that - however, if you didnt read - go now, I have to write up Peeves report - go - Amazed at his luck, Of free call duty franchise sped out click here the office, up the Pubg game strategy hub, and back upstairs. To escape from Filchs office without punishment 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 cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height. I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filchs office, said Nick eagerly. Thought it might distract him - Was that you. said Harry gratefully. Yeah, it worked, I didnt even get detention. Thanks, Nick. They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patricks rejection letter. I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt, Harry said. Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He wished he hadnt; it was like stepping through an icy shower. But there is something you could do for me, said Nick excitedly. Harry - would I be asking too much - but no, you wouldnt 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. Im holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course - but I daresay youd rather go to the school feast. He watched Harry on tenterhooks. No, said Harry quickly, Ill come - My dear boy. Harry Potter, at my deathday party. And - he hesitated, looking excited - do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me. Of - of course, said Harry. Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him. A deathday party. said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. I bet there arent many living people who can say theyve been to one of those - itll be fascinating. 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. Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had rescued the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people. Harry was at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamanders mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harrys mind. By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrids vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. A promise is a promise, Hermione reminded Harry bossily. You said youd go to the deathday party. So at seven oclock, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons. The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nicks 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 their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard. Is that supposed to be music. Ron whispered. They 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 them inside. It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearlywhite, translucent 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. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer. Shall we have a look around. Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet. Careful not to walk through anyone, said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They 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. Harry wasnt 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 dont want to talk to Moaning Myrtle - Who. said Harry as they backtracked quickly. She haunts one of the toilets in the girls bathroom on the first floor, said Hermione. She haunts a toilet. Yes. Its been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; its awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you - Look, food. said Ron. On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their 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 Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon. Can you taste it if you walk through it. Harry asked him. Almost, said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away. I expect theyve let it rot to give it a stronger flavor, said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis. Can we move. I feel sick, said Ron. They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them. Hello, Peeves, said Harry cautiously. Unlike the ghosts around them, 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 them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus. No thanks, said Hermione. Heard you talking about poor Myrtle, said Peeves, his eyes dancing. Rude you was about poor Myrtle. He took a deep breath and bellowed, OI. MYRTLE. Oh, no, Peeves, dont tell her what I said, shell be really upset, Hermione whispered frantically. I didnt mean it, I dont mind her - er, hello, Myrtle. The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry 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. Rust animations best nice to see you out of the toilet. Myrtle sniffed. Miss Granger was just talking about you - said Peeves slyly in Myrtles ear. Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight, said Hermione, glaring at Peeves. Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously. Youre making fun of me, she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes. No - honestly - didnt I just say how nice Myrtles looking. said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs. Oh, yeah - She did - Dont lie to me, Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. Dyou think I dont know what people call me behind my back. Fat Myrtle. Ugly Myrtle. Miserable, moaning, moping Click the following article. Youve forgotten pimply, Peeves hissed in her ear. Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, Pimply. Pimply. Oh, dear, said Hermione sadly. Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd. Enjoying yourselves. Oh, yes, they lied. Not a bad turnout, said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent. Its nearly time for my speech, Id better go and warn the orchestra.

Above the mail was a short surcoat of black, but broidered on the breast in silver with the token of the Tree. His old clothes were folded and put away, but he was permitted to keep the grey cloak of Lo´rien, though not to wear it when on duty. He looked now, had he known it, verily Ernil i Pheriannath, the Prince of the Halflings, that folk had called him; but he felt uncomfortable. And the gloom began to weigh on his spirits. It was dark and dim all day. From the sunless dawn until evening the heavy shadow had deepened, and all hearts in the City were oppressed. Far above a great cloud streamed slowly westward from the Black Land, devouring light, borne upon a wind of war; but below the air was still and breathless, as if all the Vale of Anduin waited for the onset of a ruinous storm. About the eleventh hour, released at last for a while from service, Pippin came out and went in search of food and drink to cheer his heavy heart and make his task of waiting more supportable. In the messes he met Beregond again, who had apex legends friends come from an errand over the Pelennor out to the Guard-towers upon the Causeway. Together they strolled out to the walls; for Pippin felt imprisoned 808 T HE L ORD O F THE R INGS indoors, and stifled even in the lofty citadel. Now they sat side by side again in the embrasure looking eastward, where they had eaten and talked the day before. It was the sunset-hour, but the great pall had now stretched far into the West, and only as it sank at last into the Sea did the Sun escape to send out a brief farewell gleam before the night, even as Frodo saw it at the Cross-roads touching the head of the fallen king. But to the fields of the Pelennor, under the shadow of Mindolluin, there came no gleam: they were brown and drear. Already it seemed years to Pippin since he had sat there before, in some half-forgotten time when he had still been a hobbit, a lighthearted wanderer touched little by the perils he had passed through. Now he was one small soldier in a city preparing for a great assault, clad in the proud but sombre manner of the Tower of Guard. In some other time and place Pippin might have been pleased with his new array, but he knew now that he was taking part in no play; he was in deadly earnest the servant of a grim master in the greatest peril. The hauberk Pubg game for laptop xp burdensome, and the helm click here upon his head. His cloak he had cast aside upon the seat. He turned histired gaze away from the darkling fields below and yawned, and then he sighed. You are weary of this day. said Beregond. Yes, said Pippin, very: tired out with idleness and waiting. I have kicked my heels at the door of my masters chamber for many slow hours, while he has debated with Gandalf and the Prince and other great persons. And Im not used, Master Beregond, to waiting hungry читы на counter-strike xtreme v5 others while rust game eat. Https://freestrategygames.cloud/fallout/fallout-4-vault-114-fusion-core.php is a sore trial for a hobbit, that. No doubt you will think I should feel the honour more deeply. But what is the good of such honour. Indeed what is the good even of food and drink under this creeping shadow. What does it mean. The very air seems thick and Pubg game for laptop xp. Do you often have such glooms when the wind is in the East. Nay, said Beregond, this is no weather of the world. This is some device of his malice; some broil of fume from the Mountain of Fire that he sends to darken hearts and counsel. And so it doth indeed. I wish the Lord Faramir would return. He would not be dismayed. But https://freestrategygames.cloud/for/hacks-for-counter-strike.php, who knows if he will ever come back across the River out of the Darkness. Yes, said Pippin, Gandalf, too, Pubg game for laptop xp anxious. He was disappointed, I think, not to find Faramir here. And where has he got to himself. He left the Lords council before the noon-meal, and in no good mood either, I thought. Perhaps he has some foreboding of bad news. Suddenly as they talked they were stricken dumb, frozen as it click here to listening stones. Pippin cowered down with his hands pressed to T HE SIEGE O F G ON DO R 809 his ears; but Beregond, who had been looking out from the battlement as he spoke of Faramir, remained there, stiffened, staring out with starting eyes. Pippin knew the shuddering cry that he had heard: it was the same that he had heard source ago in the Marish of the Shire, but now it was grown in power and hatred, piercing the heart with a poisonous despair. At last Beregond spoke with an effort. They have come. he said. Take courage and Pubg game for laptop xp. There are fell things below. Reluctantly Pippin climbed on to the seat and looked out over the wall. The Pelennor lay dim beneath him, fading away to the scarce guessed line of the Great River. But now wheeling swiftly across it, https://freestrategygames.cloud/pubg/pubg-guns-ever.php shadows of untimely night, he saw in the middle airs below him five birdlike forms, horrible as carrion-fowl yet greater than eagles, cruel as death. Now they swooped near, venturing almost within bowshot of the walls, now they circled away. Black Riders. muttered Pippin. Black Riders of the air. But see, Beregond. he cried. They are looking for something, surely.

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