The (Second) Decapitation of Nearly Headless Nick

Nick told himself that it was entirely his own fault. Every year he wrote off to the Headless Hunt, and every year he was turned down. He would mope about it for a while, find some suitable student to sympathise with him, and then curse the Hunt until next year came around.

Last year's Deathday Party had been one of the more disastrous occasions.

He glanced over the letter. They wrote the same one every year with a tone that added an implied 'Ha Ha!' after every sentence.

Still, he just needed to happen upon a fine Gryffindor student, make a few hints, and he'd be quickly reassured that he was a fine and intimidating spectre and all would be right with the world until next year.

Sadly though, with this damned Sirius Black on the loose, the students seemed to be travelling in wary-eyed packs. He did so dislike taking them on in groups.

Ah-ha! There was one, pink cheeked and alone. A Ravenclaw- but they usually got on admirably with Gryffindor. And young enough to possibly find him honestly frightening if he played his cards right too!

"Good evening," he droned in a deep, sombre voice.

The girl was sitting on the steps in the Entrance Hall, reading a magazine of some sort. She looked particularly little in the cavernous space.

"Good evening Sir Nicholas," she replied absently.

The conversation faltered a bit at this point. Nick had found women a troublesome enough breed when he was alive. Now that he was deceased he found that he couldn't seem to think of a single thing to say to a twelve year old girl.

He drew himself up to his full height none-the-less and spoke in a ringing important voice. "Are you fully aware that you are wearing a necklace made of what appears to be Christmas Baubles?"

Curses! Perhaps he should have planned what he was going to say ahead of time. A comment about the weather perhaps, or the upcoming Halloween Feast...

"Yes," said the girl. "It's never too early for Christmas."

"Oh," said Nick. "Well, Miss...Miss...er, I'm afraid I am not aware of your name."

"It's Luna," said the girl. "Luna Lovegood. I'm reading this article, but if you'd like to talk, feel free."

Nick found himself slumping onto the steps next to her. He hadn't needed to sit down since he'd died, but it was a nice habit to have these days. He found himself telling her the whole story.

"...so you see, I wish I could just cut it completely off sometimes." He made a vague gesture to his neck area.

Luna closed her magazine and looked up at him with the intense criticism only someone under the age of thirteen can have.

"I can see how it might be a bit of a drawback," she said delicately.

"Exactly!" said Nick. He nodded vehemently and felt the head in question wobble.

"And you can't take it off, you say?" said Luna. "One good tug...wouldn't that do it?"

"I say!" said Nick, horrified. "There has to be a certain amount of style. One can't just go tugging it off like simply plucking a daisy!"

Luna stood and looked critically at his neck area. "Scissors or shears perhaps?"

"They pass right through," said Nick sadly.

The girl shoved her magazine into her bag and adjusted her necklace, clearly deep in thought. "So what you need, ideally, is a pair of ghostly scissors."

"Firstly, you cannot turn objects into ghosts. Secondly- an axe. I mean, scissors, this isn't an arts and crafts project..."

"Why?" asked Luna.

"Because it's the look of the thing! Scissors! Hah!"

"No, why can't you turn objects into ghosts?" she pressed, she had large blue eyes that stared all the time but never seemed to water. They seemed to tell him that he better have a darned good answer because she wouldn't accept anything less.

Everyone knew, didn't they? That's how it all worked. If random things started becoming ghosts there'd be all sorts of broken quills and rubbish floating about the place! Perhaps she'd suggest ghostly pudding next...Spectre Spotted Dicks...

He tried to explain, but she just kept staring at him as if he had somehow missed the point.

"It all seems very obvious to me," she said.

"And I suppose you can achieve what wizards throughout the centuries can't?" said Nick derisively. He was finding this young blonde girl extremely taxing to speak to.

Oh yes," she said breathlessly. "You see...if we find an axe that won't fall apart no matter how we try and break it, then clearly it doesn't want to die...isn't that the whole point of being a ghost? So all we have to do is snap the axe then, and we'll have the essence of an axe (I don't think the ghostly axe will be powerful enough for me to see, but you ghosts certainly will) and then you can use the axe as you see fit. I don't think the image will last that long though, so you'll have to be quick."

She looked critically at his neck again. "Are you sure we'll need an axe for suck a small job?" she said.

Nick was flabbergasted at this bizarre reasoning as it was. "I will thank you not to pass comment," he said, affronted.

"I'll go find us some axes and try and find one that won't be destroyed...then you meet me back here after dinner and we'll test our little theory."

She stood up and stuffed the newspaper into her bag, trotting down the steps to the Great Hall.

"Your little theory," said Nick as she walked off, baubles jangling. He wondered what on earth had possessed him to talk to this small insane girl. He didn't want to even think about where she would get axes from

"I should tell someone," he said to himself. "An unhinged twelve-year-old is going around trying to destroy axes."

ooo

"This is exceptionally odd!" said The Fat Friar as he and Nick floated up to the Astronomy Tower after dinner. "A mortal is planning to help you cut your head off? But why?"

"Because I asked," said Nick gloomily. "I only wanted some sympathy and a vaguely frightened look. The next thing I know I'm literally up to my neck in some second year's scheme."

"Luna Lovegood," The Fat Friar rolled the name around in his mouth. "Isn't she that rather odd..."

"That's the one."

"Still," The Fat Friar clapped him on the back. "Bit like pulling a tooth I imagine...not very pleasant but you'll feel better afterwards. I can't see why you need me though."

Nick waved a hand theatrically. "I can't very well chop it off myself can I? And besides...a religious presence is always comforting at moments like these."

The Fat Friar shrugged but spoke thoughtfully moments later. "I must say, this idea of turning objects into brief ghosts is fascinating. Do you think it would work on food? I've always fancied trying Bubble Gum you know."

"I for one would prefer something a little more traditional," said Nick. "Chicken...some boiled potatoes...oh, there she is."

They had reached the top step where Luna was sitting patiently reading her magazine again by wand-light.

She tucked the magazine away and hefted up the axe by her side.

"I tested it over and over again. I threw it into the lake and the Giant Squid pushed it back. I left it in plain sight of Peeves and he didn't do anything with it-"

"Chap must be off his game," murmured The Fat Friar.

"-and I used it to try and chop those trees made of stone Professor Sprout is growing, and it's perfectly fine. It really is a survivor!"

"I hope it's still sharp," said Nick. "And you'll believe me when I say I know a sharp axe when I see one."

Luna insisted that she had indeed checked its sharpness.

"If it is a survivor, how do we destroy it?" asked The Fat Friar with interest.

Luna waved a hand. "It doesn't have to be indestructible. Just like a pea that rolls away for your fork when you try to eat it. You'll win eventually. I think setting it on fire should work admirably." She paused to think for a moment. "Any pea that landed on my plate would be a lucky pea indeed. Because I don't like them so I wouldn't eat it. Anyhow..."

The Fat Friar, just out of Luna's sight, made a 'Loony' gesture by twisting his finger around at ear level.

Luna set the axe down on the floor carefully. She took out her wand and muttered a spell and within seconds the thing was blazing with blue flames.

It took a while to burn properly, but when the flames died away Nick saw that all that remained was a pile of ashes and a blackened blade that's edge burned red hot

And...yes...there seemed to be a wispy outline...

"I say!" shouted The Fat Friar. "It worked!"

"Did it? Oh good!" said Luna, who was looking down, unseeingly, at the remains.

"Right," said The Fat Friar, hefting the ghostly axe up. "I don't think we'll have long Nick..."

He caught Nick's glare.

"-Sir Nicholas. Uh...if you would care to kneel. I don't suppose you'd like a cloth put down would you? For hygiene purposes?"

"If I didn't know you better, Friar, I would say you were making fun of me," said Nick tightly. He dropped gracefully to his knees and held his head up as high as it would swing, giving The Fat Friar a nice good area to aim at

"Have you prepared any words?" said The Fat Friar, who seemed oblivious to the sarcasm.

"Yes," said Nick tartly. "Do you think the hat would be too much to carry around as well?"

"Uh...well...on three then?" said the Friar nervously. He hefted the axe up with trembling hands.

"One...er, two...uh..."

"Headless Hunt here I come!" whooped Nick.

"Three!"

The axe swung down and changed course abruptly when Luna screamed.

"You're going to cut his head off!" she wailed.

The Fat Friar stared at her blankly. "I thought that was the point?"

"And this was your idea," said Nick. "You came up with it." He was more than put off to have a perfectly good moment ruined.

Luna sighed. "Oh dear," she said. "I thought you meant your ruff! I mean, I was thinking an axe was a little dramatic for wardrobe management..."

Nick forgot his graceful pose and jumped up from the floor. "You sat and listened to me talk for ten minutes!"

"Well, yes," said Luna. "But I told you I was reading a magazine article. I only heard the bit about you wanting to cut it off and you pointing at your ruff."

"At my neck," said Nick exasperatedly. He patted his ruff defensively. "Why would I want to remove my ruff," he demanded in a ringing voice.

Luna looked at it critically. "Well, boys get embarrassed about excessive frills don't they?"

"Ruffs, I'll have you know, are in." said Nick in a withering tone. "Now if you don't mind Miss. Lovegood this is a private moment between myself and my head."

Luna shrugged, bubbles jangling. "It's a shame really. There can only be so many ghosts in the Headless Hunt, but nearly everyone has an attached head. You'd make a lot more friends if you started an Un-Beheaded Club." She swept the destroyed axe away with her wand and moved to head back downstairs.

"A club for the Un-Beheaded? What would one do there? Head juggling it off the cards, obviously." His tone was slowly changing to one of guarded interest.

Luna turned back to him with a thoughtful expression. "Neck massage? Line Dancing? Hat modelling?"

Nick wasn't really listening. "We'll need a sash of some sort...for the president only of course. Yes...something nice and exclusive! I can write a letter to Sir Patrick... 'Your application for the Un-Beheaded Club has been rejected on the basis that not having a head would make things such as neck massage rather difficult' - something polite and official and condescending..."

Luna shrugged. "Lots of ghosts have heads."

"The Grey Lady has a head," said The Fat Friar, who knew what Nick's feelings regarding the Ravenclaw ghost were.

Meanwhile the axe was fading in The Fat Friar's hands. "I am glad," he said. "To be honest, I was never very good with chopping." He perked up suddenly. "I have been told I have very soothing hands. Neck Massage might really be my thing..."

"Maybe we could have a feast with this theory of Miss. Lovegood's...a ghostly club with food. I'll be the talk of every ghostly party this century!" Nick's hands were fluttering excitedly.

Luna smiled at him, in her usual manner which seemed to get across the feeling that everything was following her own plans. "Oh good," she said. "And if you do have second thoughts about the ruff, you know where I am."

The End