Sir Nicholas De Mimsy Porpington's

Deathday Party 2018

It was upon them all once more, to congregate within the lower chambers of the school, to the hallowed hall within which Sir Nicholas, proud ghost of Gryffindor House, chose to throw his deathday parties every single annual turn. A time for mourning and rejoicing, for spectors across the country to amass together to have a ball where each ghost of the school was expected to join, and where Sir "Nicholas De Mimsy Porpington" would deliver a sorrowful speech of his passing. An ironic day's passage, in the eyes of the Baron, for a cheerful and merry phantom to look forward to. The elves hated it, he was sure, for all the rotten carcasses of old hogs and rancid fruits they would be required to bring out and lay across a great line of tables for the 'guests' to attempt to enjoy. This year he'd even gone so far as to have a few tables of ripe and new food. Having departed to the Slytherin ghost earlier that day that he trusted some of the school would choose to join them. A dubious thought, for the hall was near deathly cold and swarming with the dearly departed.

In one corner, a small raised dais had been created for the ghostly orchestra to perform their morose musical compositions which were traveling in from the North. In the other, the Baron had taken up residence in a seat far away from where the celebration would be taking place. Not to prevent any guest or mortal from involving him, as he already knew in passing that few dared to look at him nevermind engage him in a one-sided conversation... but in order to not inhibit or deter another from joining the midst. She would be in evidence, The Lady always was. Fleetingly some years, sparingly in others. No, his place was away from the dancing and the mingling and socialising. He had no place in those circles. The only ones he'd speak to were the ones he'd had to share his existence within these great stone walls with for centuries, others half a millennia. The others he did not know nor did he wish to. Their judgements meant nought. Their gazes unwelcome. He only ever came to sit in a show of solidarity to Sir Nicholas. Always showing up once the party was in full swing. Always the last to leave the hall in the end when all whispers had departed.

The hall was filled past its usual capacity. The Baron eyed them beneath the brim of his plumed hat with a black, icily glinting gaze. His hands folded in his lap. His back resting against the back of the chair- or so it looked. Manacles, chains, locks... they spooled beside and around him in their great number of links and coils in conscious silence. Movement around the main floor became evident, and his eyes left the doors of the cavernous hall to fix on it. Perhaps Nicholas was prepared to deliver his near sanctimonious spiel. From where he was seated, he could not spy for sure. Then his eyes flicked like knives back to the door as movement happened there. Some others were arriving, it seemed. 

TAG: @sirnicholas , The Grey Lady , @anyone and everyone that's Hogwarts or Ghosts! Party is in full swing (mostly ghosts) so your character can be the first living soul to join!| Location: Deathday Chamber, Basement | Date: Halloween, 2018 (Wednesday night after the feast)| ENJOY!

MEL @ ADOXOGRAPHY

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[attr="class","orange"]home again

[attr="class","vanilla"]one day i'll feel at home again

[attr="class","gummies"] It was only polite to pay respects to the ghosts on an important day, so Nick had changed as soon as it was polite to leave the Halloween party, discarding his Death robes and placing on something far more pleasant. He knew that it was morose to attend in costume, and even worse to attend in the costume that he was wearing. So he had changed into his regular semi-formal slacks and button down shirt, making sure that there was no remnants of makeup on his face as he wandered towards where the party was already in full swing. Thankfully, Nick wasn't the first of the Hogwarts students to attend. He could already see @clio there, and he wasn't shocked a bit. She was one of the people who seemed far too in tune with the ghosts around her, and she was apparently a part of that club that prided itself on speaking to ghosts and ghouls and all of that. Personally, Nick thought that it was a bit strange, having a club to discuss ancestors and all of that. But Jones was a strange one; each conversation he had with her left a bad taste in his mouth. He liked her brother far better, but he had graduated already and was off somewhere playing with dragons.

He wondered if Octavian had decided to go with her, or if Violet Stroud had. She generally was within the company of them or Alisander Doge-- though Alisander seemed to have a date for the evening, and he wasn't sure if that meant he would refuse to go along with them because of it. Nick tried not to get too involved in the tangled lives of the underclassman, if only because it got far too confusing. For the majority of last year he had actually been convinced that one of the Party Trio had been dating each other, but he had been wrong. He thought, at least. It could always change. They were in Hogwarts, after all. Nick let out a yawn and looked to his right, where Atha was standing. "Isn't this better? We should go find Sir Nicholas." He didn't want to seem rude, not wishing the ghost a good Deathday. In his efforts to find the ghost, he finally saw Violet Gertrude Stroud. He wondered if she and Clio were going to hang around with Myrtle-- if they found her, that is. She seemed very much their tempo and temperament.

The Baron was seated nearby, and Nick shifted awkwardly. He was unsure where he stood with the ghost, as each interaction had been brief and awkward. Nick had never been one to only see him as a distraction for Peeves. No, he had generally kept their words to a pardon or a discussion of the current state of Hogwarts affairs. He was very curious about the way that the ghost was dressed, of course, but he would never try to ask. Instead, he turned to Atha and gestured to see if he wanted to wander around the room.

[attr="class","cherries"]# @ yeet   | # 506  | #spaaam time

[attr="class","credz"]♕fai

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[attr="class","title2"] Deathday Party

[attr="class","subtitle2"]FIVE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIXTH

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It had been quite some time before Gryffindor house had acquired their House spirit. It was not for lack of options, truly-- there had been many dead from Gruffindor House, and there were those were loyal, brave, and true. Still, Gryffindor turned out less spirits than the other Houses, and none encompassed Gryffindor as much as Sir Nicholas De Mimsy-Porpington. He was one of her great friends, which admittedly was a rather small number.

It was not truly that the Grey Lady was particular in her choice, but Ravenclaw's patron spirit was rather solitary. Like the Friar, Sir Nicholas didn't know her as Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of the great Founder, rather as Helena of Colneceastre, a spirit from the invasion of the conqueror.

Sir Nicholas had been a credit to his House, and it was fortune that he had not passed over, as his dedication was surely something to celebrate. He was one of the few among them that knew the date they had died, after all. The Grey Lady did not truly even know the season she had died in, and she doubted the Baron knew more than she. Seasons there were different, after all. She had arrived some time late, having visited the Feast to see to it that children were well.

She could almost smell the food, though she knew that she could not taste it. Her ten centuries of Spirithood had discouraged her from trying past her ninety-sixth year. This was no so great an occasion as Sir Nicholas's five-hundredth Death Day, and there would not be as many newly-found Spirits attempting to see if the residual magic in Hogwarts would make a difference. Her eyes swept the room for both Peeves and Myrtle, careful to meet the Baron's. She would take Myrtle, if the poltergeist and the girl decided to make spectacles of themselves, she supposed. Myrtle was her responsibility, after all.

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[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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Giacomo was far from someone you would think would willingly attend a party. He had become even more reserved ever since his mother had registered and he hated seeing her forced into doing that. At least he was lucky to see her each time he had holidays and it comforted him a little. For each day he was at school, he worried more and more for her welfare. He knew that the ministry could possibly be more concerned with healing people following this illness but he wasn’t so sure. How was he to be sure that people would be there didn’t have something else put their sleeves when it came to muggleborns. Giacomo rarely trusted people. The number of people he did trust could be measured on one hand and they were just those in his family. He wished he could consult his grandparents about his mum but being muggles they would have less of an idea on how she as then he did.

If only he had someone outside of the school who was magical and who he could trust. But he didn’t have anyone. Maybe if he could befriend one of the older students who had an internship. He could ask them to check up on his mum in exchange for some kind of favour. He wasn’t sure what he could offer them but he would come up with something. He was resourceful or at least he considered himself resourceful.

The fifth year sighed, he had put on a nice shirt and dress pants. He had modest clothing and he could hardly afford anything nice. He was going to a deathday party after all and he had no idea what to wear. He had never been to such an event before but he supposed that there would be others there. At the very least he could people watch before he returned to his dorm.

Sighing heavily, unsure why he was making the effort, Giacomo made his way to where the party was being held. He walked in and tried to hide his surprise. The gather was in full swing. It was nice to see. He made his way further inside and stood to the side and looked around with this arms folded behind his back happy to just watch. He noted the The Grey Lady and nodded to her before continuing to watch everyone again.

Deathday Party 2018

The evening had proceeded splendidly so far. Ghosts from all over Britain had assembled once again to celebrate his Death Day. As long as Sir Patrick didn’t decide to come on horseback again, today would be just as festively mournful as he liked it. He wished he could make sure that Sir Patrick would remain at home, but three other members of the Headless Hunt had assured him that they’d not interfere today after they had turned his Death Day last year in a sports event. Not today, no. Today he’d be able to hold his speech that he had been working on for the last nine months. A rhetorical masterpiece. If the tale of his painful death didn’t move the late souls of those attending, he didn’t know what would. Or at the very least, he’d be able to impress the humans. The ghosts had all heard his story countless times — though never as rhetorically elegant as they would today — but not all of the present students were entirely familiar with the minutiae of his demise. They knew that he was improperly beheaded, but he usually didn’t go around telling everybody of the reasons. In the beginning of his death, he of course he hadn’t done so not to embarrass Lady Grieve. Not that she was that well known in the wizarding world, but that wasn’t the point. It was simply that no gentleman would ever act like that. After all, he didn’t blame her. He had made a mistake — a small mistake anybody could make — and she had suffered because of what he had done. She hadn’t asked for him to die. Not that she had done much until a friend (what was her name again? After all this time, he couldn’t remember) had corrected his blunder and performed a Memory Charm for the poor woman’s peace of mind.

But over five hundred years later, Lady Grieve had long turned to dust, and he was free to mention her name without sullying her memory as nobody but he himself remembered her or the way she looked, tusks or no tusks. His human life didn’t really matter anymore. He had forgotten so much about it, curiously enough mostly what concerned him personally. He still remembered a lot of the politics, he still lived in the mindset of the fifteenth century even though he had seen so many years pass by and so many changes. But he didn’t change anymore. Nothing could hurt him anymore… apart from the Basilisk incident. That was the one catastrophe he knew he’d remember forever. But today was not the day for such dark memories. Today he wanted to move his guests to tears with the sad story of his death. It would be delightfully morose.

He glided through the crowd, stopping here and now to exchange small talk with one or the other of his guests. There @bloodybaron was exuding gloom like always. He might not be the life of the party, but his presence was still one that Nicholas wouldn’t want to miss — not only because of the prestige but because he was proud to say that he was one of the few ghosts that the Baron was friendly with. Continuing on his way, he found The Grey Lady on the other end of the room. She and the Baron, they had some history together, but he had never asked and he never would. He’d go and talk with the lady at some later point, maybe ask about the young Ravenclaw that haunted the toilet. She was still very new to her life as a ghost, she hadn’t even celebrated her seventy-fifth deathday in June, the poor thing. He floated a bit higher. Soon it’d be time to make his speech, but he wanted to make sure that his human guests were alright too. He’d asked the elves to see that there would be something to eat even though after the feast he wasn’t sure whether anyone would be hungry. He maybe should have thought of blankets… He couldn’t make out any of his own Gryffindors yet… no, over there was young @clio . And there was the Head Boy with his friend. He almost forgot to keep his morose expression, seeing all the students. He hesitated for a moment, torn between house loyalty and rank. The Head Boy would be able to judge whether the situation was bearable for humans and would be qualified to make changes if need be. Deciding to be responsible, he floated towards the Hufflepuffs. “Good evening, @nick , Athazaz Acanthus Bones ,” he said. “I hope you are enjoying yourselves. You have all the food you need? It’s not too cold here, is it?”

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[attr="class","title1"]Deathday Party

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He'd slipped out with Nick, changing with him. Deathdays, he knew, were somber things, and dressing as a pirate, well. . . there were probably actual ghosts of pirates. He assumed, as the most experience he'd had with ghosts was at Hogwarts. To his knowledge, there weren't any ghosts of Bones heritage as they all wanted to move on to face their justice. And there was little connection to places-- after all, growing up with an attached cemetery tended to make things more of a wait for death, a reminder death-the-final-place was near.

He did at times wonder what it would feel like to be a ghost, what it would be like. Eternity forever, just. . .drifting? Aware and unable? It added a true sense of gravitas to everyone he saw floating here, that they'd seen and been through so much. All the history weighing them down, all the. . .

Atha was glad, more than anything, that the ghosts hadn't been impacted. He didn't know how they would be, since they couldn't really eat, but magic didn't always need to make sense. How would that even work for ghosts if they caught it? Would they just. . just fade? Or be gone? He didn't know, he was thankful he would never know. Best to accept it, to be happy for it that they weren't. He didn't know the other House ghosts as much as he'd like to, but he was friendly with Friar and he liked the idea of Sir Nick. The ghosts noticed a lot, he knew, because they were a usual occurrence. Not common, but presences people were both used to and appreciated.

Personally, he might have been biased, but he thought the Friar and Nearly Headless Nick were the most pleasant ghosts. Call it the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff solidarity, but they got along well, so it made sense he'd like the other House ghost next-best, even if he didn't know him all that well. Still, he knew that the ghosts understandably favored their own House. Mostly at least, he didn't really think the Bloody Baron or Grey Lady really spent as much time talking to their students as the Friar and Sir Nick did. Tav had mentioned a few run-ins, and he didn't particularly remember Amelia mentioning long talks with the Baron like he did the Friar.

He was surprised to see Sir Nicholas head towards them instead of Clio. "@sirnicholas !" The grin that found its way to his face was real-- he'd known his name. "We're enjoying ourselves pretty well. We ate before, so we're well." He belatedly realized he didn't know exactly Sir Nicholas's thought on two boys being together, but . . .well, he'd hope for the best. "It's a pretty good temperature," he lied, thankful that he didn't get cold easy. "Are you enjoying your Deathday?"

[attr="class","tags1"]☆ sorry, shitty post <3 ☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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Tonight might not be any impressive number — five hundred and twenty six was really not all that special — but it was all the more pleasant to see how many of Hogwarts students had come to his Deathday Party. He should think of more spectacular entertainment for the next couple of years if they’d be coming in larger numbers. It would be embarrassing if they’d go away tonight with the impression that Deathday Parties could only be enjoyed by ghosts. It had taken him a couple of years to thoroughly realise this. He did know that ghosts and humans had different needs and opinions on what was cheerful. For once, all ghosts had a certain preference for theatrics, and one of their favourite topics (especially on a day such as this) tended to be their deaths — usually not immediately but after one or two hundred years it did become a source of much enjoyment. And it was easy to forget that this was not always obvious to the living. Now, all these years ago when he had been a student, it had never crossed his mind that one day, he’d join the ranks of the Friar, the Grey Lady, the Baron.

But here he was, as much the ghost os his house as the three others were of theirs. All in all, Nick thought that he had spent his five hundred and twenty six years well. He had grown into his part as representative of Gryffindor, and the students had become his friends. He couldn’t claim that he remembered every single one of them. He couldn’t even remember who he went to class with. Of course, it was of little importance these days. Nevertheless, there were certain threads that could be followed through all these years, and he was sometimes surprised himself what information he could come up with. But in the end that was all he was. An entity full of memories, forever frozen in the same state that he was on that fateful day so many years back when the executioner-

That was for later, for his speech. And in this he intended to get melodramatic and raise pathos like a good tragedy would do. He’d have to have his performance under control. A ghost of his age had to be able do so and not to start of getting all rueful because he had made the wrong decision and not moved on. He had regretted it countless times, and he knew many others in this room did the same. Thus, he knew very well that it was the last thing they wanted to be reminded of today. It might be an important message to those still living, but how much was a warning against becoming a ghost going to help a teenager? No, today they would enjoy lamenting his painful beheading. That was the point of todays evening, and he wanted to revel in this atmosphere and not get lost in thoughts that were utterly in vain.

Maybe he’d float past the Friar once he’d be heading for the podium. His content aura never failed to reconcile Nick with his existence, at least for a little while. It might really be advisable to see him before he made his speech, just to make sure that he’d find the right tone. Maybe it was more of a prejudice than anything, but Hufflepuffs tended to be the second most pleasant group of students to talk to. The young Bones was no exception though it hurt Nick a little that the boy had considered it necessary to eat in advance. It made sense, there had been a feast this evening, and it was even smart as everybody knew ghosts didn’t eat. And yet… “It is a very sorrowful day, today,” he said with grave satisfaction, the thought of his impending speech lifting his spirit again. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” He was the host, this was his responsibility, and Sir Nicholas did not neglect his responsibilities. “It will soon be time for my speech, I do hope you stay around to listen.” As hopefully everybody would. If one thing hadn’t changed from the time when he was human, then it was the idea that he was talking while people were filing out of the room. But it was by now really time for his speech. Not that he’d hasten it, but he’d float in the general direction of the podium next.