Happy Death Day! (2019) | Meagan

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October 13, 2019

Bludworth Bathory always held his Death Day Party in the Slytherin common room, as was the time-honored tradition for the jolly spirit. Ghosts and students alike waltzed gracefully to the cheerful music provided by the violin-playing quartet of ghosts floating above the animated gathering. Anyone unfamiliar with the concept of a Death Day most certainly would have confused the event with a festive funeral, given the morbid decorations and party favors.

A long, slender table covered with a black cloth holding various confectioneries was placed before the emerald windows of the gloomy common room: silver trays filled with cupcakes with black icing that had RIPs written on them in white icing, bowls of punch with black goblets elegantly arranged next to them, black paper plates and plastic utensils, and tombstone sugar cookies. But what took up the majority of the table was the massive eight-foot, casket-shaped cake that read in white icing Bludworth Bathory: November 27, 1692 – October 13, 1729.

Black streamers were hung from the walls and swaying eerily from the breeze created from the dancing ghosts. Hung above the roaring fireplace was a large portrait of Bludworth while he still lived, above which was a black bunting with a silver message reading In Loving Memory.



Predictably the purist demographic of Slytherin House was absent from the event, and this would induce the utmost placidity within Bludworth. He didn't need any silver-tongued brats spoiling his night with their loud-mouthed prejudice. Only Slytherins who at least respected the ghost and his origin were here on this evening; if any endorsers of purity were present, they were silent among the respective throngs.

The attention of all occupants was suddenly seized by the Bloody Baron's voice urgently shouting out, “THE DEATH DAY BOY HAS ARRIVED! THE DEATH DAY BOY HAS ARRIVED!”

A hush settled over the room as the quartet of ghosts began to dolefully play the Funeral March. The throngs parted as four bulky Slytherin males entered through the entrance, each supporting on their shoulder a corner of the black casket with a silver carving of the jolly roger symbol carved into its lid. The mournful tune of the Funeral March continued until the casket was placed before the fireplace.

A gentle murmuring of collective bewilderment hummed around the room seconds before the lid of the casket flew open and a squall of air blew the flames in the fireplace from existence. Bludworth Bathory, the swashbuckling Slytherin, guffawed with maritime vigor as he shot out of the casket. Slytherin House and the attending ghosts zealously addressed him with a roar of applause and cheers. Bludworth bowed and reveled in the ovation as he floated down before gratefully demanding silence.

“Proud Half-bloods 'n Blood Traitors, it brings me dead heart great joy t' see ye gathered here in honor o' me Death Day,” he called out with open arms and a translucent simper. “As some o' ye are aware, I be the firs' Muggle-born t' 'ave ever been made Head o' Slytherin! This o' course was th' onset o' me end, as the pureblood I beat fer the position poisoned 'n drowned me in the very lake I now haunt. But don't any o' ye be feelin' sorry fer this dead serpent! I died havin' achieved me goal 'n left me own imprint upon Slytherin's history! So let the party continue wit' this philosophy in mind, me ambitious kin: When the plan t' reach yer goal fails, abandon the plan – not the goal!

“Tha' be the Slytherin way!”

Bludworth's words resonated through the hearts of the Slytherin students and earned him yet another round of applause.

“Now – dance, drink, eat, chat! Let this Death Day be as lively as possible until its end!”

The party returned to its default state of conversation and dance as Bludworth admired it all with proud silence, for this was the symbol of all that he had achieved.

He was heedless to the curious person coming up to him from behind...

[Deleted]

 

The Slytherin common room was decorated for some kind of party and Meagan had decided to check it out. She didn't have to wait very long when she heard the Bloody Baron announcing the arrival of whom this party was meant to celebrate. Death Day boy? Even though she was a fourth year now, the Slytherin was still baffled by a lot of things the wizarding world had to offer, like this party for instance. Who on earth would want to celebrate their own death? It didn't make any sense, she just could not imagine what would make a death worth celebrating. The funeral march began to play and Meagan watched as a group of male Slytherins brought a casket into the room. If this was meant to be some kind of weird funeral, maybe she should've worn a black dress instead of her muggle clothes.


Meagan stepped back in shock when the lid suddenly flew open and a ghost emerged. The young Slytherin was used to the idea of there being ghosts in the school, she had sometimes seen them around during special events like the Start of Term feast. She had seen Gryffindors speaking with Nearly Headless Nick, she had had heard the Bloody Baron was a bit frightening but had never really taken the time to speak with him before. Meagan applauded politely with the rest of her house when the ghost made his entrance, still a little confused as to what was happening.

Meagan listened to the ghost's speech and her mouth dropped open in amazement. He was the first muggleborn Slytherin and a former head of house?! Meagan didn't think that would've been allowed, given how prejudiced Slytherin is these days, no wonder somebody had murdered him. He must've really made a lot of people angry by being granted the position. Once the speech was over, Meagan walked over to the refreshments table to observe the cake that had the ghost's name written in icing. Bludworth Bathory, she thought to herself as she committed the name to memory. He had been alive over three hundred years ago and dead 290 years as of 2019, according to the years displayed on the cake.

Meagan selected one of the small cupcakes from the table and a plate to put it on. She tore off a tiny piece of the treat and put it in her mouth. Once she had swallowed Meagan carried her plate away as she approached the ghost. "Hello?" she called out, hoping to grab Bludworth's attention. 

(@dess ) 

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The other Slytherins, at Bludworth's hearty command and influence, were once more conversing; the attending ghosts were swaying gracefully again. Bludworth spied the Grey Lady all by her lonesome near one of the windows looking out into the Black Lake, her expression listless. Right when he was about to approach her and request a dance, a girl's voice stopped him where he floated.

Bludworth was almost certain he had witnessed her Sorting, but she had been but one out of a plethora of first-year Slytherins at the time. Thus, her face was not on intimate terms with his memory. Nonetheless, as long as she was not another Slytherin intending to berate his lack of magical heritage, he would be courteous.

“Evenin' t' ye, lass,” Bludworth said with a dashing smile. “Hope the festivities o' me Death Day be t' yer likin'. Who be ye?”

@meg

OOC: Meagan and Bludworth reunited! <3

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Meagan returned the ghost's smile with one of her own as he bid her good evening. The young Slytherin looked around the common room when he mentioned the Death Day festivities. "It's festive, alright but.. well, this is going to sound a bit silly, but what is a Death Day anyway? Is it a funeral of some kind? " she asked. Meagan was really under the impression this was some weird funeral due to the ghost making his entrance from a casket, the funeral march playing as her male housemates carried it to the front.

"I'm Meagan Albright, fourth year Slytherin. Maybe you saw another first year that looks just like me on our first day? That's my twin sister Chloe, she's Slytherin too. You're Bludworth, right?" Meagan then found herself wondering if that was even his real name, the ghosts at Hogwarts had a lot of strange names that didn't sound like a usual name. Names like The Fat Friar, The Bloody Baron and so on. Those couldn't be the real names of those ghosts, right? After all everyone had a name in life, right. Although the Gryffindor Ghost was now known as Nearly Headless Nick, while overhearing him talking amongst the Gryffindors she heard he was called Nicholas de-Mimsy Porpington in life. It all made Meagan curious about what name Bludworth had been called in life. 

The Slytherin looked down at her choice of clothes for the evening. It was just jeans and a plain old shirt. Was this a funeral or a celebration? Meagan really did not understand what was going on. The morbid decorations and a portrait of Bludworth looking very much alive were things a person would usually see at a funeral of their own loved one, though the portrait wouldn't be of a ghost that had lived three hundred years ago. It would be of a parent, friend or sibling that had passed away.

"So that's you?" she asked, referring to the portrait set up in the common room. Meagan didn't see much difference between the man in the portrait and the ghost, the only difference was he was transluscent. "First muggleborn to be made Head of Slytherin.." she said, still in awe over his speech. "I'm muggleborn too.. " Of course her not knowing what a Death Day was probably gave that away. Meagan examined the In Loving memory inscription on Bludworth's portrait, it all made Meagan feel like she was not at all dressed appropriately for the occasion. Were guests supposed to say a few words about the deceased? Meagan had known Bludworth for all of five seconds, it would be weird to eulogize someone she had just met. 

(@dess ) 

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Bludworth raised an eyebrow at the peculiar question the Slytherin girl asked. “Well, fair Meagan, a Death Day be t' a ghost wha' a birthday be t' one still among the livin'. Wha' more explanation do ye really need, child?”

Shaking off her question, he turned his attention to the question with which he could offer more keenness. “Aye, I be Bludworth Bathory, Ghost o' the Black Lake! I've taken eternal residence in Slytherin House fer well-nigh three centuries! Engrave the memory o' this dead Mudblood into yer memory, my dear, fer it be o' the firs' Muggle-born t' reign o'er the House o' serpents.”

Even though he had practically announced the achievement to everyone, it wasn't an annoyance for him to proudly his repeat accomplishment (albeit over-dramatically).

The young girl turned their attention back to the portrait of himself alive, the gentle breeze causing seductive waves in his black hair, while his piercing blue eyes addressed the viewer.

“Tha' was me,” Bludworth slyly answered, his finger to his chin as though examining a rather exquisite piece of art. “I was quite the sight, wasn't I, lass? I recall about twenty young students yer age swoonin' o'er thar Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor!”

Right when he was about to recount one of the instances, Bludworth's words were lost within a shocked gaping of his mouth. Had he heard correctly? Was this girl really...?

Meagan would have to strain her eyes to look at Bludworth's pre-death portrait, for he had shot in front of her with an expression of pure disbelief. Had he a functioning heart, it surely would have momentarily been stopped.

“Blow me down...It's been nearly four decades since another Muggle-born was placed in...”

The ghost was steadily drifting around her like a curious shark...

@meg