WutYee/HarryPotter_books_1to7 · Datasets at Hugging Face

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And Harry’s heart began to race. He remembered seeing his dead
parents in the Mirror of Erised four years ago. He was going to be able
to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it —
He looked around to make sure there was nobody else there; the
dormitory was quite empty. He looked back at the mirror, raised it in
front of his face with trembling hands, and said, loudly and clearly,
“Sirius.”
His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even
closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at
him through the fog were definitely his own.
He wiped the mirror clear again and said, so that every syllable rang
clearly through the room, “Sirius Black!”
Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the
mirror was still, definitely, his own. . . .
Sirius didn’t have his mirror on him when he went through the arch-
way, said a small voice in Harry’s head. That’s why it’s not working. . . .
Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror
back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a
whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him
again. . . .
Disappointment was burning in his throat. He got up and began
throwing his things pell-mell into the trunk on top of the broken
mirror —
But then an idea struck him. . . . A better idea than a mirror . . . A

THE SECOND
WAR BEGINS
859
much bigger, more important idea . . . How had he never thought of
it before — why had he never asked?
He was sprinting out of the dormitory and down the spiral stair-
case, hitting the walls as he ran and barely noticing. He hurtled across
the empty common room, through the portrait hole and off along the
corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady, who called after him, “The feast is
about to start, you know, you’re cutting it very fine!”
But Harry had no intention of going to the feast . . .
How could it be that the place was full of ghosts whenever you
didn’t need one, yet now . . .
He ran down staircases and along corridors and met nobody either
alive or dead. They were all, clearly, in the Great Hall. Outside his
Charms classroom he came to a halt, panting and thinking disconso-
lately that he would have to wait until later, until after the end of the
feast . . .
But just as he had given up hope he saw it — a translucent some-
body drifting across the end of the corridor.
“Hey — hey Nick! NICK!”
The ghost stuck its head back out of the wall, revealing the extrav-
agantly plumed hat and dangerously wobbling head of Sir Nicholas de
Mimsy-Porpington.
“Good evening,” he said, withdrawing the rest of his body from the
solid stone and smiling at Harry. “I am not the only one who is late,
then? Though,” he sighed, “in rather different senses, of course . . .”
“Nick, can I ask you something?”
A most peculiar expression stole over Nearly Headless Nick’s face as
he inserted a finger in the stiff ruff at his neck and tugged it a little
straighter, apparently to give himself thinking time. He desisted only
when his partially severed neck seemed about to give way completely.
“Er — now, Harry?” said Nick, looking discomforted. “Can’t it
wait until after the feast?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
860
“No — Nick — please,” said Harry, “I really need to talk to you.
Can we go in here?”
Harry opened the door of the nearest classroom and Nearly Head-
less Nick sighed.
“Oh very well,” he said, looking resigned. “I can’t pretend I haven’t
been expecting it.”
Harry was holding the door open for him, but he drifted through
the wall instead.
“Expecting what?” Harry asked, as he closed the door.
“You to come and find me,” said Nick, now gliding over to the win-
dow and looking out at the darkening grounds. “It happens, some-
times . . . when somebody has suffered a . . . loss.”
“Well,” said Harry, refusing to be deflected. “You were right,
I’ve — I’ve come to find you.”
Nick said nothing.
“It’s —” said Harry, who was finding this more awkward than he had
anticipated, “it’s just — you’re dead. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”
Nick sighed and continued to gaze out at the grounds.
“That’s right, isn’t it?” Harry urged him. “You died, but I’m talking
to you. . . . You can walk around Hogwarts and everything, can’t you?”
“Yes,” said Nearly Headless Nick quietly, “I walk and talk, yes.”
“So, you came back, didn’t you?” said Harry urgently. “People can
come back, right? As ghosts. They don’t have to disappear completely.
Well ?” he added impatiently, when Nick continued to say nothing.
Nearly Headless Nick hesitated, then said, “Not everyone can come
back as a ghost.”
“What d’you mean?” said Harry quickly.
“Only . . . only wizards.”
“Oh,” said Harry, and he almost laughed with relief. “Well, that’s
okay then, the person I’m asking about is a wizard. So he can come
back, right?”

THE SECOND
WAR BEGINS
861
Nick turned away from the window and looked mournfully at
Harry. “He won’t come back.”
“Who?”

And Harry’s heart began to race. He remembered seeing his dead

parents in the Mirror of Erised four years ago. He was going to be able

to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it —

He looked around to make sure there was nobody else there; the

dormitory was quite empty. He looked back at the mirror, raised it in

front of his face with trembling hands, and said, loudly and clearly,

“Sirius.”

His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even

closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at

him through the fog were definitely his own.

He wiped the mirror clear again and said, so that every syllable rang

clearly through the room, “Sirius Black!”

Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the

mirror was still, definitely, his own. . . .

Sirius didn’t have his mirror on him when he went through the arch-

way, said a small voice in Harry’s head. That’s why it’s not working. . . .

Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror

back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a

whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him

again. . . .

Disappointment was burning in his throat. He got up and began

throwing his things pell-mell into the trunk on top of the broken

mirror —

But then an idea struck him. . . . A better idea than a mirror . . . A

THE SECOND

WAR BEGINS

859

much bigger, more important idea . . . How had he never thought of

it before — why had he never asked?

He was sprinting out of the dormitory and down the spiral stair-

case, hitting the walls as he ran and barely noticing. He hurtled across

the empty common room, through the portrait hole and off along the

corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady, who called after him, “The feast is

about to start, you know, you’re cutting it very fine!”

But Harry had no intention of going to the feast . . .

How could it be that the place was full of ghosts whenever you

didn’t need one, yet now . . .

He ran down staircases and along corridors and met nobody either

alive or dead. They were all, clearly, in the Great Hall. Outside his

Charms classroom he came to a halt, panting and thinking disconso-

lately that he would have to wait until later, until after the end of the

feast . . .

But just as he had given up hope he saw it — a translucent some-

body drifting across the end of the corridor.

“Hey — hey Nick! NICK!”

The ghost stuck its head back out of the wall, revealing the extrav-

agantly plumed hat and dangerously wobbling head of Sir Nicholas de

Mimsy-Porpington.

“Good evening,” he said, withdrawing the rest of his body from the

solid stone and smiling at Harry. “I am not the only one who is late,

then? Though,” he sighed, “in rather different senses, of course . . .”

“Nick, can I ask you something?”

A most peculiar expression stole over Nearly Headless Nick’s face as

he inserted a finger in the stiff ruff at his neck and tugged it a little

straighter, apparently to give himself thinking time. He desisted only

when his partially severed neck seemed about to give way completely.

“Er — now, Harry?” said Nick, looking discomforted. “Can’t it

wait until after the feast?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

860

“No — Nick — please,” said Harry, “I really need to talk to you.

Can we go in here?”

Harry opened the door of the nearest classroom and Nearly Head-

less Nick sighed.

“Oh very well,” he said, looking resigned. “I can’t pretend I haven’t

been expecting it.”

Harry was holding the door open for him, but he drifted through

the wall instead.

“Expecting what?” Harry asked, as he closed the door.

“You to come and find me,” said Nick, now gliding over to the win-

dow and looking out at the darkening grounds. “It happens, some-

times . . . when somebody has suffered a . . . loss.”

“Well,” said Harry, refusing to be deflected. “You were right,

I’ve — I’ve come to find you.”

Nick said nothing.

“It’s —” said Harry, who was finding this more awkward than he had

anticipated, “it’s just — you’re dead. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

Nick sighed and continued to gaze out at the grounds.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Harry urged him. “You died, but I’m talking

to you. . . . You can walk around Hogwarts and everything, can’t you?”

“Yes,” said Nearly Headless Nick quietly, “I walk and talk, yes.”

“So, you came back, didn’t you?” said Harry urgently. “People can

come back, right? As ghosts. They don’t have to disappear completely.

Well ?” he added impatiently, when Nick continued to say nothing.

Nearly Headless Nick hesitated, then said, “Not everyone can come

back as a ghost.”

“What d’you mean?” said Harry quickly.

“Only . . . only wizards.”

“Oh,” said Harry, and he almost laughed with relief. “Well, that’s

okay then, the person I’m asking about is a wizard. So he can come

back, right?”

THE SECOND

WAR BEGINS

861

Nick turned away from the window and looked mournfully at

Harry. “He won’t come back.”

“Who?”