novelraw Chapter 51: Celebration Feast
Chapter 51: Celebration Feast
Chapter Fifty-One: Celebration Feast
Ginny Weasley lay motionless on the bed in the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey had just examined her and confirmed she was unharmed.
"There now, dear, I'll fetch you a Pepperup Potion. Drink it, get some sleep, and you'll be right as rain tomorrow," Madam Pomfrey said kindly, drawing the bed curtains around her.
Ginny heard Madam Pomfrey exit the hospital wing, speaking in low tones, "She's fine... just needs rest... please don't disturb her, let her recover properly, poor child, having to endure all this at such a young age..."
She could hear her parents and brothers exhale with relief. And Harry's voice too.
Then silence fell.
A short while later, rustling sounds came from nearby, along with a girl yawning and stretching.
Ginny started. She hadn't realized there were other patients in the hospital wing.
Peeking through a gap in the bed curtains, she saw Hermione Granger spring from the adjacent bed, face flushed and eyes bright. Ginny hastily pulled the curtains shut, making a faint noise.
Hermione turned—she'd glimpsed Ginny's eyes through the fabric.
"Oh, Ginny, are you all right?" She hurried over and said excitedly from outside the curtains, "Thank Merlin! They rescued you!"
"Hermione, I'm so sorry." Ginny's voice emerged from behind the curtains, heavy with misery. "I started all of this. I released the basilisk and opened the Chamber of Secrets."
"That wasn't your fault—it was the diary's doing, wasn't it?" Hermione said crisply. "I know that wasn't your intention."
"No, that's not what he said..." Ginny sobbed. "He always claimed he was standing up for me... he said he thought what I was thinking, worried about what I was worrying about... And thinking about it now, I did have issues with those victims... maybe it really was me—"
"Ginny!" Hermione yanked back the curtains and said fiercely, "You can't think like that! We all have opinions about certain people, but that doesn't mean we want to harm them! You were distraught about them the whole time, and I think you never wanted to hurt anyone! Don't let that manipulative diary fool you!"
"Really?" Ginny asked, eyes brimming with tears. "You don't think I'm evil?"
"I don't think so at all." Hermione sat on the bed and hugged her tightly. "I think you're one of the kindest girls I know. You tried to throw the diary away, didn't you? You wanted to fight it, to resist it. You saw Harry holding it and feared he was in danger, so you took it back, didn't you?"
"Yes..." Ginny sobbed. "I wrote so many foolish things in that diary... He exploited me, exploited the resentment in my heart... I knew something was wrong... That day, I wanted to tell you... But I was terrified you'd hate me... I was afraid I'd disgrace Mum and Dad... I even petrified you... Won't you hate me?"
"Oh, poor Ginny." Hermione stroked her hair. "We all know you didn't mean it. Nobody will blame you. I won't hate you. Besides, I'm standing right here, perfectly fine."
Ginny stopped crying, mouth falling open in sudden shock.
"Wait, what happened? How are you still all right?" She looked Hermione up and down and asked in amazement, "He told me that when he possessed me, he petrified you—because you were getting too close to the truth."
"I was petrified, and it was horrible." Hermione's face showed a flicker of residual fear, but then she smiled. "But someone saved me."
"Who?" Ginny asked curiously. "How did they save you? That's incredible."
"It's a secret," Hermione said mysteriously, suddenly experiencing a bit of the satisfaction Draco must feel from his enigmatic ways. "You can try to guess."
"Oh, Hermione, how am I supposed to guess?" Ginny said, exasperated, and began racking her brain, her sadness temporarily forgotten.
"Harry? My brother Ron? Fred? George?" Ginny grew increasingly confused as Hermione shook her head at each suggestion. "It can't have been Madam Pomfrey, otherwise the other students would've been saved too..."
"That's right... it wasn't her," Hermione said with a smile. "Guess again!"
Students attended Hogwarts's celebratory feast in their pajamas—an event that would last all night.
Draco gazed at the raucous crowd, lost in thought. Once, everyone had celebrated just as wildly—the food, the cheers, the smiles—all exactly the same. The only difference was him.
His mindset was completely transformed from his previous life. Back then, he'd been busy sulking, complaining to the Slytherins about losing the Chamber of Secrets and how everything had ended badly. At twelve, he'd been a boy who loved making trouble. What rationality could you expect from someone that age?
At the time, he hadn't understood that death was final—an irreversible, cruel fact. He'd thought death was merely another curse, like petrification, something that could eventually be undone.
This had greatly diminished his fear of mortality.
But now, Draco Malfoy, with the mind of a nineteen-year-old, finally grasped death's ruthlessness. He understood life's fragility. Even watching Hermione closely for an entire term, she could still be petrified in a heartbeat. Life and death balanced on a knife's edge.
What if she hadn't been holding the mirror? Would she have become the next Moaning Myrtle?
He'd seen the real Chamber of Secrets, and he'd thought he would feel elated, reverential even. But what had struck him most was the wreckage in the passage leading to the Chamber—all the remains of the dead.
Having witnessed the basilisk's terror and the devastation it could cause, he felt only gratitude that no one had been seriously injured or killed—if you didn't count Lockhart's amnesia.
As for Harry, Draco studied the grinning, dark-haired boy in the crowd, watching his lightning-bolt scar gleam in the candlelight. Harry had accomplished what no other twelve-year-old wizard could. He was brave beyond measure and, in certain ways, extraordinarily powerful.
The Dark Lord had taken five years to locate the Chamber of Secrets. Harry had found it in less than one, making him the only wizard to truly discover its location at age twelve. He'd also pulled Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat and killed a thousand-year-old basilisk without losing a limb—a genuine miracle.
While luck had certainly played a role—the phoenix tears, the Sorting Hat's assistance—not everyone could defeat a basilisk and destroy a Horcrux with such help.
Especially considering Harry had no idea the diary was a Horcrux. It required natural wizarding instinct to decide to stab the diary with a basilisk fang, and Harry had done it without hesitation. Successfully.
This filled Draco with respect.
He couldn't fathom why he'd been so blind in his previous life, why he hadn't recognized Harry's talent sooner. Perhaps he had recognized it but was too jealous—because someone he admired had rejected his friendship, leaving him too indignant to acknowledge Harry's abilities directly.
That evening, Professor Dumbledore sat at the center of the staff table wearing his favorite purple robes and announced several pieces of excellent news with great enthusiasm: Ginny Weasley had been rescued from the Chamber of Secrets by Harry and Ron, earning them a Special Award for Services to the School and four hundred points for Gryffindor. The Chamber of Secrets would never be opened again, and the monster within had been completely destroyed.
Cheers erupted at the Gryffindor table. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students celebrated as well.
Nobody wanted the school to close. However, perhaps because Harry had been rewarded and earned Gryffindor substantial points, Professor Snape looked thunderous, and the Slytherin students seemed less than pleased.
"Don't worry too much—we've been playing excellent Quidditch this year," Slytherin team captain Marcus Flint said grimly. "As long as we can beat Hufflepuff—"
Draco hadn't realized Marcus naively hoped to use Quidditch scores to compensate for the House's deficit against Gryffindor.
Then Professor McGonagall announced that this year's Quidditch Cup had been cancelled due to the Chamber of Secrets incident. Marcus looked genuinely petrified. She also announced regretfully that final exams had been cancelled to allow everyone to recover.
At this, nearly every student in the Great Hall cheered. Pansy, diagonally across from Draco, and Blaise, beside him, excitedly threw their pointed wizard hats into the air like the other students.
Goyle and Crabbe wore incredulous, delighted smiles. Draco was absolutely certain their joy at cancelled exams was genuine.
Marcus, standing nearby, angrily snapped the silver handle from his goblet. Goyle and Crabbe, about to raise their goblets in celebration, froze and regarded him with horror.
"Next year we'll play even better," Draco said after a pause. "We'll reclaim everything that belongs to Slytherin. Trust us."
Marcus nodded fiercely, grabbed an entire chicken breast, and bit into it savagely. Draco understood his anger was justified.
Marcus had few chances remaining. He'd graduate next year, making this year's Quidditch Cup his final opportunity.
Unless Marcus repeated his seventh year. In his previous life, he had indeed repeated. But this wasn't something Draco should mention.
As for Draco himself, he no longer had energy to spare for anger about cancelled Quidditch.
Cancelling the Cup was certainly unfair. Obviously, before the four hundred points were awarded, Slytherin had led Gryffindor by roughly one hundred points.
Just as Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House, was known for favoring his students, each Head favored their own House. Dumbledore, a Gryffindor himself, was no exception.
He made it obvious. He was clearly using this opportunity to award Gryffindor enough points for them to win the House Cup.
Draco couldn't understand why nobody else saw through this. It wasn't that Gryffindor had to win—it was that Harry had to win. Dumbledore was, in his own way, encouraging and even cultivating Harry.
Dumbledore seemed to be creating an atmosphere around Harry.
In this atmosphere, Harry was a hero—revered and adored by everyone. For a boy neglected since childhood, this was irresistible honor and joy. Even Draco, who'd grown up surrounded by admirers, couldn't resist such validation. How much more so Harry, who desperately craved recognition and acceptance?
Draco wasn't certain this atmosphere was healthy, but this time, he decided to let it pass.
Harry deserved this victory—he'd solved the diary problem for Draco. The Chamber of Secrets was successfully closed, the Malfoy family was temporarily safe, and nobody had been seriously harmed.
This was already remarkably fortunate.
He took a large gulp of hot pumpkin juice and glanced toward the Gryffindor table. Ernie Macmillan, that gossipy Hufflepuff, was gripping Harry and Ron's hands, pulling Harry aside and chattering animatedly.
Hermione sat nearby. She'd returned from the hospital wing. The girl sat there peacefully, her pretty face restored to its healthy, rosy glow.
Hermione immediately noticed his gaze—in fact, she seemed to have been tracking his movements all along. She raised her goblet of pumpkin juice in a toast across the distance.
Draco's expression relaxed, and a faint smile finally touched his tightly pressed lips as he raised his goblet to the cheerful girl.
The professors all looked immensely pleased.
The news that a self-proclaimed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, having lost his memory, would be unable to return next term prompted another round of cheers from the staff table. Even Professor Snape's stern face softened slightly at this unexpected bonus.
In the latter half of the night, students from all four Houses became indistinguishable and began milling about chaotically. The Weasley twins even managed to launch fireworks, drawing gasps from the younger students. The professors, somewhat inebriated and unsteady, paid no attention. Professor Flitwick actually ran down to applaud the display, his hat askew.
Harry and Ron pushed through the crowd of students to reach Draco.
"Why won't you accept the Special Award? You deserve it as much as we do! We think it's completely unfair!" Harry couldn't fathom Draco's reasoning—he could have earned at least two hundred points for Slytherin, but he'd refused.
"We spoke with Professor Dumbledore before the feast, and he said it was your request." Ron was baffled. In his view, nobody would refuse such an honor.
"Professor Dumbledore said he couldn't explain it and told us to ask you directly." Harry looked at him earnestly with his emerald eyes. "We need to be certain this is what you actually want."
"Ah, yes... personal reasons," Draco said mysteriously, lowering his voice. "It is, after all, the Chamber of Secrets in Slytherin House, Salazar Slytherin's basilisk, you understand... some Slytherin students might consider me a traitor or something..."
He shrugged and reminded them, "Please keep this confidential."
"All right," Harry and Ron reluctantly agreed, glancing warily at the nearby Slytherin students.
The explanation was overly simplistic, almost childish, but Draco seemed resolute, and pressing further would seem disrespectful.
Ron scratched his head and hesitated before speaking. "Fred and George told me. That owl you gave me for my birthday—I have to say I really love him. I named him Pigwidgeon... Anyway, I wanted to say, er, thank you."
Draco merely gave him a lazy smirk, said nothing more, and clapped him on the shoulder.
The conversation ended there.
A wave of Ravenclaw students suddenly surged over and surrounded Harry and Ron, placing an odd-looking party hat on Harry's head, pretending this cardboard creation was some magnificent crown.
"Ravenclaws really do have a fixation with diadems," Draco thought idly. He was fingering a palm-sized, expandable dragonhide pouch deep in his pocket, where several fresh basilisk fangs were stored.
A thought suddenly struck him—why not do it now?
Draco rarely had opportunity to visit the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor. It was always too risky.
It was perilously close to Gryffindor Tower, and a Slytherin appearing there would certainly be conspicuous. But today was different—everyone was gathered in the Great Hall, and even several ghosts had joined the festivities.
Draco stood and strolled casually through the cheerful crowd, as if he weren't anxiously crossing the Great Hall but leisurely traversing his own grounds.
Finally, he reached the entrance—thinking he'd escaped notice—and quietly slid the Great Hall door open a crack.
The students were still celebrating raucously. Who would notice the commotion at the door? Nobody.
Draco slipped through, gently closed it, and headed straight for Ravenclaw Tower.
"You've returned alive." The Grey Lady hadn't participated in the revelry but waited quietly in place—she hadn't moved since Draco had rushed off to the Chamber of Secrets.
A faint smile finally touched her face, usually marked by melancholy. She asked him, "Did you obtain it?"
"Of course," Draco said, a hint of pride in his eyes.
The Grey Lady pressed her lips together and reached a decision quickly.
"It's time to finish this." She moved swiftly and floated before Draco. "Meet me on the seventh floor."
It was rare to see the Grey Lady so unrestrained. Draco watched in astonishment as she darted through the wall like a gust of wind, then quickened his own pace.
When he appeared at the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor, the Grey Lady had already been hovering before that wall for some time.
"You must do it. This room only responds to the wishes of the living." She sighed softly, her tone melancholy.
Draco nodded. He skillfully closed his eyes and paced before the wall three times, thinking—I need a place to hide things.
Shortly after, the door appeared. He opened it and, as expected, found the treasure room filled with clutter he knew so well from his previous life. He'd spent most of his sixth year here, repairing the Vanishing Cabinet.
Being reborn, this was Draco's first time entering the Room of Requirement since his rebirth. His near-death experience in the Fiendfyre had left psychological scars.
He didn't enjoy entering the Room of Requirement. While it was magical, what it represented—death, conspiracy, and more death—was decidedly unpleasant.
But this time he had to come. Following the Grey Lady, who floated silently ahead, he passed rows of cluttered tables, chairs, and cabinets, walked past several collections of old broomsticks, and finally stopped before an ancient cabinet with a blistered surface.
Atop the cabinet sat an ugly bust of a warlock, wearing a dusty old wig and an aged, faded diadem.
"There," she said softly, excitement threading through her voice.
Draco immediately recognized the diadem on the statue's head—the very one Harry had desperately tried to retrieve from the Fiendfyre in his previous life.
Ravenclaw's Diadem.
He waved his wand, but the diadem remained motionless.
"You must take it with your hands," the Grey Lady said with a soft laugh. "The Summoning Charm doesn't work on such powerful magical objects."
Draco had no choice but to climb the cabinet awkwardly, grasping it amid the wood's creaking protests. He landed with a thud, examining the dusty diadem in his hands as more details emerged.
He could see exquisite patterns and gems beneath the grime, and he discovered the tiny inscription on the diadem: "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."
Strangely, the words seemed to whisper in his ear, repeating themselves endlessly. This caused a moment of disorientation.
For an instant, he felt that perhaps by wearing the diadem, he would gain infinite wisdom and no longer need to puzzle over Horcruxes or the Dark Lord—all the world's problems would be solved.
"Wake up! Draco Malfoy!" the Grey Lady cried urgently.
Her scream roused him. He looked up at the Grey Lady—a milky-white ghost that should possess no other color—yet in that moment, he could see flames of vengeance burning in her eyes.
"Quickly! Don't let it seduce you! Look at what I've become!" the Grey Lady shouted fiercely. "Quickly, stab it!"
Draco snapped from his daze. As if burned, he hurled the alluring diadem to the floor. He gripped the fang and plunged it fiercely into the diadem's very center.
The seemingly tranquil diadem suddenly emitted a distant, faint, agonized scream. Then bloody, black, viscous substance seeped from it. The diadem trembled violently on the ground, then crumbled into charred fragments piece by piece.
The scene was horrifying, the sound piercing. Draco could only cover his ears and keep his distance until everything fell silent.
"It's finished." Finally, he looked up, breathing heavily, and said to the ghost beside him.
The Grey Lady ignored him. She floated around the diadem's fragments, laughing and laughing, then weeping.
"Thank you. I'll forever be in your debt." After a long while, she seemed to wake from a dream, murmuring something, and drifted past the Room of Requirement's door, disappearing into the distance in a daze.
Draco stared at her retreating form briefly, lost in thought. That diadem truly was cursed.
He quickly and carefully placed the remaining fragments and the fang into his pouch, finally breathing easier.
Draco had imagined how exhilarated he'd feel when he destroyed a Horcrux, but when he actually did it—perhaps because he'd endured so much waiting and hardship—he felt remarkably calm.
Almost indifferent.
Or rather, it was extreme exhaustion of the soul.
After all, he'd just survived the ordeal in the Chamber and now faced the Horcrux's evil temptation.
In one day, he'd participated in two momentous events. Either one was something he could have boasted about for a lifetime in his previous life.
But he felt no excitement. Only mental exhaustion and complete depletion.
Before anyone noticed his absence, he planned to leave quickly and return to his dormitory beneath the Black Lake to rest.
Under the cool moonlight, the Room of Requirement's door opened a crack.
Draco slipped out in a flash and gently closed the door behind him.
However, when he turned around, someone he least expected stood directly before him.
It was Hermione Granger.