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Nick Alive And Dead

(Hogsmeade) broom is delighted to announce that we had the opportunity to get an exclusive interview with the well-liked and revered Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, better known as Nearly Headless Nick. Mike Flatley talked to him about love, life, and death. MF: I can only say that seeing you again is great, Nick, if I may still call you so… NHN: Sure, Mike. It’s good to see you really found a decent job. I did not think that likely! MF: Um, well, yes… Nick, our readers will certainly be delighted when you tell them how you got away from your execution with an only partially severed neck. NHN: Oh, this old story. But, if you really want me to tell it… MF: Yes, please. NHN: Alright. I died when I was barely 40 years old, dashing young cavalier, who had the misfortune of pleasing the ladies too much. I was found to be in love with a woman whose husband was part of a plot to dispose of good Queen Bess. It was assumed that I, too, was part of this plot. Well, yes, I knew about it – but I never thought to kill the Queen! MF: We do believe you, Nick – you’re not the Bloody Baron, after all.

NHN: Yes. Very true. We were all sentenced to death, Mike – and I was the last to go to the block. The executioner’s sword was dulled by all the necks he had cut, and very bloody, dripping positively. (At this point Mr Flatley's face turned into a whiter shade of pale.) MF: We get the picture. Really! NHN: Well, my neck wasn’t completely severed, you see. (Shows Mr Flatley his open throat, which repels the latter greatly) And that was it. I was Nearly Headless Nick from that day on. MF: I see. How is life as a ghost? NHN: It’s quite alright up at Hogwarts. I am content to live there, and share my life with the students. The thing I miss most, Mike, is eating and drinking. Sometimes I cannot even remember the taste of strawberries and cream. That’s the worst. MF: I’m sorry, Nick. However, you do celebrate your deathday every year. Why that? NHN: I can hardly celebrate my birthday, can I? As a ghost, my ‘birthday’ should be the day I died: my deathday! MF: Well, we all wish you a pleasant celebration. Happy Deathday to you, Nick! (MF)

Lord Lucan

Our novelist has kindly agreed to provide some horror for you. Enjoy the story of Lord Lucan! It was a dark night some time in the 1930s, when life was still black-and-white. Through the fog an old Rolls Royce made its way towards Lucan Manor in _shire. “Must we really visit your uncle?” Sylvia asked her fiancée, Robert. “I’m afraid so, love,” Robert replied. “But you mustn’t drive that fast,” Sylvia said and grasped the door-handle a little more firmly. Robert grinned. “Ninny,” he murmured. They arrived in the yard of a huge, gloomy, Elizabethan building. A silent butler hurried to open the door for Sylvia. “Hello, Freaks,” Robert greeted him. “The luggage is in the trunk.” Freaks nodded in acknowledgement and raised his hand to call a young page. The boy looked ghastly pale in the foggy night, but he flashed a good-humoured, toothy grin to the visitors. “Miss, Mr Robert,” he greeted them and opened the trunk to hoist the luggage into the house. The door opened into a huge Entrance Hall. Only one chandelier lit it and made the shadows of the staffed boar heads flicker. The stairs creaked when Robert and Sylvia entered, and Sylvia grabbed Robert’s arm a bit more firmly. “Welcome,” boomed an authoritative voice through the Hall. “Robert, it has been too long.” “Uncle Cedric, I am glad to come back,” Robert said and shook the hand of the tiny, shrunken old man, whose garments hung loosely around his withered body. But yet this man had the most amazing voice Sylvia had ever heard. “Uncle Cedric, this is my fiancée, Sylvia,” Robert introduced her. Cedric Lucan eyed her

and nodded satisfied. “She’s a fine one, boy,” he chuckled. “I think Freaks has given her the room that goes out on the sea.” At that moment Freaks glided past Sylvia. “Follow me,” he rasped as if he was not used to speak. The room facing the sea was spacious, but dusty, and it smelled of mould. Sylvia wrinkled her nose. Freaks tore away the heavy green velvet curtains from a window and pointed out. “Sea,” he croaked. Sylvia obediently stepped near the window. Indeed, there was the sea, wearing a crown of white foam and roaring with wild pleasure against the needle-sharp rocks at the foot of the coast. “Dinner at seven,” Freaks told the guest and disappeared. Sylvia could have sworn he had gone through the wall, but when she knocked against it to find out if there was one place where a door could be, she was disappointed. Shrugging, she began to dress for dinner. When she was ready, she went back to the window, inexplicably drawn there by the view of the sea. And then she saw it: There was Freaks, and there was the page, and they were transporting something towards the cliffs. They threw it into the waves. Sylvia was stunned: it was the body of Lord Lucan they had tossed away like rubbish! At dinner, nobody even referred to the absence of the Lord. Sylvia was too frightened, and Robert seemed to think his uncle had been suddenly taken ill. “My dear, do you like your room?” Robert asked. Sylvia nodded. “It is very nice,” she lied. “It was my late aunt’s room. She died in there, of a fever, they said,” Robert

reported. It did not make Sylvia desirous of spending a night in that room. In the night, the fog was chased away by a heavy storm that battered against the window latches and made the sea sneak up until it reached the sad remnants of the gardens. Sylvia sat upright in a chair at the window and watched nature battling against men. And there it appeared again: the body of Lord Lucan. Sylvia shuddered. Noises in the room next to her made her strain her ears to eavesdrop. “We’ve gotten rid of him, sir. You are the next Lord Lucan. But be aware: once your heir has come off age, we shall dispose of you, too.” It was Freaks’ strange voice who spoke these words, and it was Robert who answered: “Very well. I shall see to it. You must see to my fiancée.” “Yes, my lord,” answered Freaks. Sylvia heard the steps coming closer and ever closer to her door. The loose floorboard in front of the door creaked, and the handle went down, ever so softly. The door opened noiselessly. Sylvia pressed herself into the folds of green velvet. Freaks looked into the room. Something gleamed in his hands… A knife! Sylvia clapped her hand in front of her mouth to stop herself from screaming. The movement betrayed her. “Ah, Miss, you found the wrong man,” Freaks said and smiled savagely. Sylvia shouted for help, but nobody came. In her panic, she opened the window and jumped out. She felt nothing when her body hit the rocks and was swallowed by the wild waves of the sea. Freaks calmly shut the window. “It is done, my lord,” he announced to Robert Lord Lucan who smiled serenely.

Editors' Corner

Happy Halloween! Folks, Friends, yes, even Foes, We hope you are able to celebrate the Magical Community’s highest holiday with due decorum! Get your pumpkins ready and coax your family ghost out of the attic – and if there’s a mad woman in that attic, call her, too. Nothing like lunacy in a Halloween night. But let’s be serious: celebrate what you’ve got. News have reached us that this Halloween might be the last for us all to celebrate in security and peace.

Please read broom very closely in the following months. If you pay attention, you will find valuable information – but of course our duty and our wish is to provide you with a good, long laugh. So, we hope your artificial spiders are dangling happily from the ceiling and your ghoul doesn’t behave too rude. Invite friends and enjoy yourselves – as will we! Yours faithfully, M. Flatley & B. Cullen

Disclaimer: All names, characters and places are property of J.K. Rowling and Warner bros., except of those not found in the "Harry Potter" books and movies which belong to Ulrike Friedrich and Kirsten Seelbach. No financial and/or commercial gain is intended.